


In the Witch's Nest

by a_forgotten_note



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 160,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: Amid the confusion of adolescence and growing up in foster care, Virgil also has to deal with the fact that strange happenings follow him wherever he goes. Rumors are beginning to spread that he's cursed.Despite that, two men come to visit, promising a better future. It's kind. It's inspiring. And it's almost too good to be true. These men have nothing to gain by loving Virgil as their own, and yet, they embrace him.Virgil is thrust into a new life: one brimming with magic, mystery, and the knowledge that all is not what it seems.He wants to make his new parents proud... but how far can he go when he doesn't even trust himself?





	1. Spark and Flame

                Headphones are heavy. Grounding, in some cases. Suffocating in others. The leather that covers the ears can be cool to the touch, pressing down on skin that is already red and stinging from the chill. That kind of pain was like a ghost; a feeling that was left behind in another life. Left to die and be buried by the snow until some unlucky person happened upon it. Or, the leather burns; left in the sun for too long. A forgotten sensation until the moment it touched the skin. A spark? No, more of a molten, liquid pain. Real and justified.

                Virgil liked the lukewarm days best. The days when he’s left the headphones sitting on his windowsill during a rainy day, with the chill from the rain cooling the leather as the radiator warmed the room from the hardwood floors to the low-hanging rafters. That feeling. The heaviness of the head ware just enough to ground him, _calm_ him, those were the best.

                He liked the moments when he tucked himself away in his room, pretending he didn’t have to share the room with six other boys, put the headphones over his ears, and drowned in the music of a gifted CD… those were the best moments. The times when he was no one. Nowhere. Eyes closed… listening, but just barely. A finger on the pulse of the music, a dull reminder as his mind wandered. Unhindered by stress and unafraid of his anxieties.

                He liked the times when others were downstairs or outside playing. Those were the moments he had to breathe. On that particular afternoon, Virgil was curled up in the window seat next to his bed, watching the busy streets passively with his legs tucked up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Safe. Secure. The portable CD player _whirred_ and _clicked_ when he skipped a song. He didn’t know what any of the songs were; it was an old, copied disc that had been left behind when another child had been adopted. But that didn’t matter. He was alone with the music, and that was all Virgil needed.

                But, in his experience, those times were short-lived.

                “Virgil?” Dahlia said from the doorway. Soft voice and so, _so_ gentle it nearly hurt. He didn’t look away from the window as Dahlia stepped inside and sighed. Her hands worked at the frayed cuffs of her old sweater, watching Virgil carefully. “The Hansens are leaving.” Silence. Dahlia shuffled over to Virgil’s bed and sat down slowly, favoring her right hip as she tried to turn and give Virgil a look. He hadn’t turned from the window. Dahlia tried again. “They wanted to apologize. They told me… they told me they wanted it to work out.” Virgil was still quiet, and Dahlia pressed a hand to his back. “They _really_ wanted it to, Virgil.”

                When Virgil still didn’t respond, Dahlia sighed and reached up to yank the headphones back and off Virgil’s head. He flinched, his hands reaching up in confusion as he glared at Dahlia. His caretaker shook her head. “Can you hear me with those damn headphones?”

                “I heard you,” Virgil grumbled, lifting the headphones back onto his ears. “They wanted it to work out. They’re sorry.” The CD _whirred_ as it started over from the first track, and Virgil fidgeted with the buttons as Dahlia eyed him carefully. “Yeah. I’ve heard it all before.”

                Dahlia rolled her eyes. “You need to stay positive.” Virgil snorted. Dahlia ignored it. “We just haven’t found the right family for you, yet.”

                “I’m pretty sure everyone within a one hundred mile radius already knows I’m bad luck, Dahlia,” Virgil muttered. He opened and closed the CD player a few times, enjoying the _click_ as it snapped shut. Dahlia tried to mumble some sort of assurance, but Virgil overshadowed it with, “I don’t know of any other kid that had fires start in _every_ house they’re brought to,” he gave her a look. “Have you?”

                “No.” Dahlia visibly squirmed. Maybe she was afraid that Virgil would somehow cause a fire in the orphanage. Maybe she really _did_ suspect him, no matter how many times she said he couldn’t have started the fires. He _wouldn’t_ have started them. _Shouldn’t_ have. Virgil lazily turned back to the window, listening to the CD player _click_ as a car slowly drove past the house. Dahlia wrung her hands before giving Virgil’s arm a pat. “We just need to find the right people.”

                “So I can be blamed for _another_ fire?” Virgil grumbled under his breath, bitter and hurt. A car pulled up in front of the house, and he watched the driver step out and open an umbrella. A passenger stepped out on the other side, turning up their collar against the rain. The two approached the house, disappearing from Virgil’s view as the doorbell rang. Dahlia slipped away to answer it, leaving Virgil to stew in his thoughts.

                He’d tried so hard with the Hansens. He’d done everything he could to not be scared or antisocial. Yet, after three days, like clockwork, a fire ignited at the edge of Virgil’s bed. Then in the kitchen. The living room, the Hansens bedroom… there was no explanation aside from: ‘It started when Virgil arrived.’ That was all the Hansens need to ship him back. He could feel the relief in the air when he stepped out of their car and back into Dahlia’s sad, waiting arms. It was just like the fifteen other families that had sent him away in the past. They’d all been practically euphoric at the sight of him going back to the orphanage and far, far away from them.

                The front door opened with a terrible groaning sound, but the visitors didn’t seem to mind. Virgil could barely hear them through the floor, but he heard the low, even tones of a man’s voice. Then another’s. And then Dahlia, flustered and surprised. They’d come looking for a child, probably. No matter how many children she cycled through the doors, Dahlia never ceased to sound amazed when hopeful adopters came knocking.

                In the rec room, most of the kids were watching some sort of cartoon. A rainy-day special, Dahlia called it. Virgil was one of the few exceptions. A few of the younger children had been put down for naps. Dahlia would probably show the visitors the files on the kids, just like always. They would go for younger children, as most do. The more impressionable ones. The ones that could be molded to whatever the family thought they could be. Twelve years had given Virgil enough time to develop an introverted, anxious, antisocial personality. Many people were not willing to take on that kind of project. ‘Dealing with a sad, fire-starting adolescent? No, no… show us the little girl with bows in her hair again.’ Virgil had heard it all.

                What he wasn’t expecting to hear was a knock on the bedroom door. He turned to see Dahlia at the door with two men. Her face was distant. Confused. Concerned. For Virgil, or the men? Virgil couldn’t tell.

                “Here he is,” Dahlia’s voice sounded strangely forced. As if she was trying to sound upbeat, but didn’t have the energy to follow-through with the emotion. “Virgil, this is Logan and Patton Sanders.”

                Only one of the men smiled, and even then, it was dripping with pity. He reached up to straighten his glasses, wiping a bit of rainwater from the lenses as he stepped forward slowly. Carefully. Did he think Virgil would spook, like a deer? He reached the center of the room and stopped, hands wringing and smile shaking.

                “Hi, Virgil,” he said softly. There was a strange, lingering energy in his voice. Excitement… or fear. Had they seen Virgil’s file? Did they know what had happened to the other people that had tried to take him in? Virgil swallowed thickly, and the man in the center of the room stepped a little closer. “I’m Patton,” he held a hand to his chest, then indicated to the man by the door. “This is my husband, Logan.”

                The other man – Logan – gave Virgil a small incline of his head. “A pleasure,” he said crisply.

                Virgil pinched the fabric of his jacket between his fingers, pulling at the frayed cuffs nervously. “Am… am I in trouble?”

                “Trouble…?” Patton’s smile faded a bit before returning brighter than before. “Why would you think that, kiddo?”

                Virgil shrugged even though he knew the answer. He was afraid someone _actually_ believed he started the fires. He hadn’t, of course, but… what if someone had found evidence to the contrary? Were these men here to take Virgil away? Lock him up for a crime he hadn’t committed?

                Patton winced at Virgil’s expression and gestured to the bed. “Can I sit next to you?” Virgil curled up on himself some more, but nodded. Patton sat down, but not before giving his husband a look. Virgil couldn’t quite tell what the look was meant to convey, but Logan turned to Dahlia and motioned for her to step outside.

                “That will be all, thank you,” he said sternly. Virgil watched, slack-jawed, as Dahlia nodded numbly, turned, and left the room. Logan closed the door behind her.

                These men were here to take Virgil away. He knew it. He _knew_ he’d be blamed for the fires. He _knew_ it would end like this. The feelings were jumbled up in his stomach, fighting to escape through his constricting throat as Virgil glanced back and forth between to the two strangers in the room. What did they _want_ from him?

                “You’re not in trouble, Virgil,” said Patton soothingly, his hands folded politely in his lap. He cocked his head to the side, almost like a curious puppy before he said, “I really can’t imagine you go around _causing_ trouble.”

                “Not on purpose, anyway,” Logan chimed in, almost sounding irritated when he adjusted his own thick-framed glasses. He walked around the room slowly, taking in his surroundings leisurely. Virgil kept an eye on him as Patton continued to speak.

                “Of course he wouldn’t _try_ to cause trouble, Logan. He’s a good kid.” Patton looked at Virgil and smiled. “At least, that’s what Dahlia tells us.” Virgil was quiet; what was he supposed to say? Did they want him to confess something? He looked at Logan, watching as the man picked up a book from another child’s bedside table, frowned at the title, and put it back down. Patton leaned forward, trying to regain Virgil’s attention. “Dahlia told us that you’ve been having a tough time, kiddo. That true?”

                Virgil frowned. “What? I… I mean, I guess? Uh…” he looked over to see Logan had come to a stop next to the window. Now he was surrounded. Patton on his right, Logan on his left… he fidgeted with the cord of his headphones, pulling until he was sure the wires would snap. “I dunno.”

                “You don’t know?” Logan said incredulously. Virgil shrunk into himself, trying to hide from the intensity of Logan’s blue eyes. Patton gave his husband a warning look, but Logan disregarded it. “Of course you do. We are referring to the attempted and failed adoptions you have been through.”

                “Logan,” Patton hissed crossly. Reaching out carefully, Patton’s hand hovered over Virgil’s shoulder. Afraid to comfort or afraid to touch? “Hey, now. It’s okay. I know he sounds sharp, but…” Patton gave Logan another knowing look. “Sometimes he just doesn’t know how to read a room.”

                Logan quirked an eyebrow. “That’s what I have _you_ for, Patton.”

                Patton waved that statement aside as he scooted to the edge of the bed, getting as close to Virgil as he could without ending up on the floor. Virgil watched him warily, still _click, click, clicking_ away at his old CD player. Patton smiled at the rhythmic sound. “You like music, kiddo?”

                Virgil stopped clicking and put his hands in his lap. “I guess.”

                “Dahlia says you have trouble with anxiety,” Logan said bluntly. Virgil shrugged, and Logan hummed thoughtfully. “Music is known to have a calming effect when those who suffer from anxiety listen to it; classical music has been the best example of this.”

                Virgil glanced down at his portable CD player. It was held together by tape and sheer force of will. It didn’t seem like something so broken could calm anyone down. Pressing down on the pause button a few times, Virgil shrugged again. “I mean, I guess? I don’t really have any classical music.”

                “What kind of music _do_ you like, Virgil?” Patton pressed, seemingly genuinely interested. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

                “Whatever I can listen to? We don’t really have extra money to buy new stuff.” He shrugged loosely, watching as Logan rounded the bed and picked up the book that was on Virgil’s dresser. He admired the cover for a moment before leafing through the first few pages.

                “Do you enjoy reading?” Logan asked. He didn’t look up from the book when Virgil mumbled some sort of agreement. Patton leaned over to see what he was reading, smiling as Logan handed him the book. Logan gave Virgil a considering glance. “This book is… interesting. Do you enjoy fiction?”

                “It’s got magic!” Patton announced before Virgil could speak. He looked at Virgil with wide, excited eyes. “Do you like magic, Virgil?”

                Virgil sputtered and fidgeted. “I dunno. Kind of? It’s whatever.” He pushed his hand through his hair, taking time to brush his bangs forward and into his eyes. Just to hide from Logan and Patton. So he didn’t have to look at them directly. “Ghost stories are cool, I guess.”

                Closing the book, Patton smiled, leaned toward Virgil and said, “Well, ghost stories sound –”

                Logan stiffened. “Don’t you dare…”

                “ _Spook_ -tacular!” Patton finished with a laugh. Logan huffed and shook his head as he walked back to the other side of the window, obviously exasperated. Virgil frowned. They were making jokes? Detectives didn’t usually joke with people they suspected of crimes… maybe he _wasn’t_ in trouble. That would be nice. Patton came back to the conversation with a bright smile. “But really, I think it’s cool that you like those stories.”

                Logan nodded. “It’s good to read whatever you can, even if it’s fiction. It lays the base for a wide and thoughtful mind.” He gave Virgil a considering look and a small smile. “Though, I’d recommend a few realistic books.”

Virgil squinted. Why did they care? Why did they say things like that? They knew who he was. They knew what he’d done. They’d talked to Dahlia. This conversation only served to confuse him. Maybe the men were trying to gain his trust. Hoping to crack open his shell to understand the ‘motivation’ behind the mystery fires. Maybe… just maybe, they were manipulating him. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Virgil took a breath and tangled his fingers in the cord of his headphones. He didn’t want to be taken away. He didn’t want to be a juvenile delinquent.

                “I bet if I took you two out to a bookstore, you’d have a ball.” Patton laughed to himself. Virgil’s head snapped up, watching as Patton cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Would you like to go to a bookstore sometime, Virgil? I bet we could find you some nice new stories.”

                Something in Virgil’s chest snapped. It was like a spring wound too tight, coiled in the corner of his heart until enough was enough… the break sent waves of mistrust and fear through him. It burned, but in a familiar way. It was hope. Hope for… for what? A chance to be part of a family? No. These men didn’t want him. Why would they? Virgil frowned at Patton, watching as Patton’s own smile started to droop.

                “Why do you care?” Virgil snapped. He looked at Logan, seeing nothing but cool detachment on the man’s face when he asked, “Why are you guys up here, anyway?” He looked back to Patton. “You talked to Dahlia about me… and you know about the other families… why…”

                “Why are we here?” Patton repeated owlishly. For a moment, he looked away, taking in the sight of the old, run-down room. A smile came to his lips. “Because… well, I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be without my parents.” Virgil narrowed his eyes, and Patton went on, “But I do know what it’s like to stick out like a sore thumb. Feeling something… something not quite right.” He gave Virgil a sidelong glance. “You ever get that feeling, Virgil?”

                Swallowing thickly, Virgil leaned back against the rain-cooled glass of the window. “Are… are you guys cops? Are you investigating me, or something?”

                Without warning, Patton let out a loud laugh, rocking forward and shaking his head. “Are we… oh, that’s… that’s a first! Never been called a police officer before. You, Logan?”

                Logan seemed more perplexed than anything as he shook his head. “No, I can’t say I have.”

                When he’d caught his breath, Patton adjusted his glasses and giggled to himself just a bit more. “We’re not, Virgil. I promise. Like I said, you’re not in trouble.” Turning to look at Virgil directly, Patton gave him a soft smile. “We’re just here because… even if you’re going through a rough time, you still deserve a chance. The stuff you’re going through… the experiences you’re having… you don’t have to go through it alone.” Patton nodded to himself as he said, “We want to help you.”

                Virgil shook his head. “I didn’t set those fires.”

                Logan’s eyes widened. “Patton, you didn’t tell me there were fires.” Patton shrugged helplessly, as if it were a minor detail.

                Mentally cursing himself, Virgil tucked his legs against his chest and hid his face. “It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t do anything!”

                “We believe you, kiddo,” murmured Patton, sounding so much closer than before. Virgil didn’t believe that. After what had happened to him… all of those ‘freak accidents.’ He couldn’t just accept it when someone didn’t blame him. He already blamed himself. They doubted him. Logan had already sounded alarmed. He should have asked Dahlia to stay in the room. He should have run before the conversation started. He should have, should have –

                Smoke. Virgil smelled smoke. Looking up frantically, Virgil saw flames licking up the sides of the doorframe. No escape. Logan and Patton saw it, too. But they didn’t panic; they simply watched. Virgil stared at them, fear and disbelief marking his expression in equal parts as the two men watched, motionless, as the fire crackled and grew until the wallpaper started to peel around it.

                “This is worse than I thought.” Logan muttered. “You were right.”

                “Of course I was right,” Patton beamed.

                Feeling his mouth catch up with his mind, Virgil leapt up from the window seat, hands shaking and legs trembling as he shouted, “Fire! F-fire! We have to, we have to…” he looked around for something, _anything_ , that could either douse or smother the flames. But, before he found something, the flames were gone. It was like someone had found a light switch for the fire, leaving Virgil to stare at the unscathed door with an open mouth and furrowed brow.

                “This happens, kiddo,” Patton said gently. Virgil gave him a horrified look, and Patton tucked something back into his pocket. What was it? The smile was still clear on Patton’s face when he turned to Virgil. “Trust me, I was all kinds of confused when I was your age. You’re not alone.”

                Virgil pointed at the door dumbly. “But… there… what happened to the fire?”

                “The fire has been taken care of,” Logan said with exaggerated emphasis as he gestured to the door. “Do you not understand how –”

                “No-Maj, Logan,” Patton interrupted gently. Virgil’s nose wrinkled. What language was he speaking? It sounded like English, but not quite. Patton gave Virgil’s shoulder a soft pat. “He’s been raised by a No-Maj. He doesn’t understand.”

                “What?” Virgil jumped away from Patton, self-consciously rubbing at the shoulder he touched. Patton looked mildly hurt by the movement, but Virgil didn’t apologize. Instead, he grit his teeth and frowned at the smiling man. “What don’t I understand? What do you want from me? What happened to the fire?”

                Patton sighed with that ever-present smile. “Virgil, you deserve to have a family that can understand what’s happening to you. Understanding it is hard, but… understanding it _without_ a support system is even harder.”

                “The fires. The odd happenings. It’s not coincidence, Virgil,” Logan said evenly. He reached up a hand to straighten his glasses, giving Virgil a sharp look through the lenses. “It’s all linked to one thing, or should I say, one _person_ : you.”

                “I… I didn’t start that fire,” Virgil said frantically. He pointed at the door in evidence. “I was across the room when it started! You saw!”

                “Easy, kiddo,” Patton said softly, his hands up in surrender. “We’re not trying to make you into a bad guy. We’re trying to explain.” He lowered his hands slowly, clasping them together before speaking again. “It’s scary. I know. You don’t understand what’s happening… you’re probably confused. I went through the same stuff. And I think,” he paused, “I think, if you’d have us, we could help you.”

                Virgil backed up a few paces. “Help me… with what?”

                “You want a family,” Patton said softly. “We want one, too. And we know _exactly_ what you’re going through.” His voice was soft. Like the rain that _tap, tap, tapped_ against the windowsill. Insistent but still gentle. Pushing the issue, but without dire urgency. Patton’s smile was painfully kind as he said, “A kid like you is special, Virgil. And word travels fast in a big town like this.”

                Virgil opened his mouth to question that last statement, but Logan spoke first. “People have heard about your ‘accidents.’” His voice was low. Calculated. Methodic. Virgil eyed him carefully as he spoke. “People are shying away from your case, Virgil. That is…” he pursed his lips, choosing his words carefully. “It’s quite unfortunate. It’s a shame that you had to go through all of the wrong people before Patton and I caught wind of your situation.”

                Taking another step back, Virgil was startled to notice his back hit the wall. Pinned next to the door. Just close enough that he could make an escape if he needed to… but did he want to? They were offering something. A chance, maybe. Refuge? Surely not.

                “So… you guys just want to take me because I’m… weird?” Virgil said slowly, his mind already working through scenarios in which he’d have to fight his way out of the room.

                Patton sighed and sat back down on Virgil’s bed. “Not quite, kiddo.” He glanced over at Logan, smiled, and looked back to Virgil. “We’ve wanted to start a family for a while. We kept talking about it… where to start, what to do… and then, we heard about a boy that was sent back to the orphanage because of some… interesting things.” His smile took on a pitying note as he sighed again. “They didn’t understand what was happening, Virgil. But we do. And if we can help you… if we can be your family and guide you through this tough stuff… I think any amount of time is worth spending.”

                Logan nodded decisively. “I agree. Learning to control your –” he glanced at Patton. “ _Strengths_ … can be difficult for any young person. You need a safety net and support system to constructively process your emotions and feelings.”

                Scratching at the wallpaper, Virgil bit his bottom lip. “You really think I started the fires.”

                Patton’s eyes went wide as he shook his head, and Logan huffed, “No, we don’t. Did we say that? Virgil, we know that you don’t _intentionally_ start these fires. They are an unfortunate result of ill-timed emotional flares and undisciplined practice of…” he trained off uneasily when Patton took his wrist, and Virgil watched as Logan swallowed the rest of his statement unhappily.

                “You’re a smart kid, Virgil.” Patton said gently as he took a small notebook and pen out of his coat pocket, and started to scribble something on the paper. “So we won’t push things… but I’ll give you our phone number.” He crossed the room slowly, holding out the paper with a smile. “We’d love to have you, Virgil. But we won’t force things. Take your time. Call us if… or _when_ you’re ready.”

                Hesitantly taking the paper, Virgil frowned at the clean handwriting that said, _Patton & Logan Sanders_. He lifted his face to catch Patton’s eye, and found a smile waiting for him in those warm, hazel eyes. Virgil bit his lip, and didn’t smile back. Hope still roiled in his belly. Excited and waiting for Virgil to jump at the chance for a real family. But something was off. A secret hidden in the words Logan hadn’t said. A detail that Patton didn’t reveal.

                “This… I mean, are you like… serious?” Virgil glanced at Logan, who was busy wiping the lenses of his glasses on the fabric of his shirt. Virgil looked back down at the paper. Still there. Still real. The phone number was clear and legible. An invitation for a new life, a better family… a chance to belong. He huffed. “You… every time someone thought they could take my case, they just ended up bringing me back here.” He looked up to meet Patton’s sad gaze. “They all said they could handle weird stuff.”

                “I think we are better equipped to accommodate you, Virgil,” Logan said tersely, a hint of a smile on his lips.

                “But! Like I said, there’s no pressure!” Patton held out his hand to Logan, energetically wiggling his fingers until his husband came to take his hand. “Take your time, Virgil. Give it some thought. It’s a big choice.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil muttered. “Yeah, it is…” he glanced back up at the two men. “What happens now?”

                Looking to Logan expectantly, Patton cocked his head to the side and smiled when Logan reached out his empty right hand to Virgil. “Now we say, ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Virgil.’” Virgil took the offered hand, and Logan shook it once. “I think you’re a very intelligent young man. You could be something even greater, given the proper instruction.” His eyes glinted behind his glasses, and Virgil couldn’t help the way his lips turned up at that. Logan smiled back readily. “We encourage you to think about our offer.”

                Patton rolled his eyes. “It’s not a business proposition, sweetheart.” He laughed when Logan shook his head, but made a point to wink at Virgil before reaching for the door. “But he’s right, kiddo. Think it over. We’re here if you need us.”

                With that, Patton opened the door and slipped out of the room with Logan in tow. The door shut quietly, leaving Virgil leaning against the wall with a slip of paper in his left hand. He heard the heavy sounds of feet on the stairs. The sound of Dahlia’s voice, just loud enough to reach Virgil. She spoke to Logan and Patton for a few minutes; no one’s voice held a hint of malice. It was all pleasant. Then, the front door opened, Dahlia said some sort of goodbye, and the door shut.

                Before he could stop himself, Virgil was scrambling to the window, pressing his face to the glass and watching Patton open his umbrella over himself and Logan. They held each other’s hand. Patton was smiling, his lips moving around words that Virgil couldn’t hope to hear. Logan smiled back. They spoke to each other lightheartedly in the rain, huddled together under the umbrella. After a minute, Patton’s hand smoothed over the front of Logan’s coat, loving and sweet. Logan wrapped an arm around Patton’s waist. Virgil felt a blush spread across his cheeks as Patton stood up on the tips of his toes, Logan bent down just a bit… Virgil snatched his face away from the window as they kissed.

                They seemed so happy. But, they were also strange. They knew the architecture of Virgil’s life better than he knew it himself. How was that? There had been a fire at the door… how had it disappeared? What had they done? Virgil crinkled the note in his hand as he glanced at the book of ghost stories Patton had left on the bed. Magic, mysteries… and ghosts. Virgil glanced down at the paper. He bit his lip.

                He glanced out the window just in time to watch Logan and Patton drive away.

+++++

                “Hey, Dahlia,” Virgil muttered in the doorway of the kitchen. Dahlia sat at the small kitchen table, bouncing a toddler on her knee. Tally had gotten a cold earlier that week and was nearly glued to Dahlia at all hours, and apparently that included the middle of the night as Dahlia sat at the table, struggling to balance a checkbook. Dahlia gave him a tired smile, and Virgil swung his arms at his sides uselessly. “Can I talk to you?”

                Setting aside her checkbook, Dahlia gave Virgil a considering look. “Sure you can.” She kicked the chair on the other side of the table out, inviting him to sit. She still held a toddler to her side, bouncing her knee as the toddler chewed on the corner of an old, cotton blanket. Virgil sat and tucked his hands into his lap. Dahlia waited for him to speak. He did not. Eventually, Dahlia reached across the table and picked up a thermometer, pushing it into Tally’s mouth and waiting for the _beep_. She looked to Virgil with raised eyebrows. “What’s up, Virgil?”

                Squirming under the scrutiny, Virgil pulled at the sleeves of his jacket anxiously. “You know those guys who came to see me three days ago?”

                Dahlia’s eyes went out of focus for a second before she snapped her fingers and nodded. “Sanders! That was their name… Patrick and Logan Sanders.”

                “Patton,” Virgil corrected softly. “But close enough.” He paused, hearing the thermometer chime. Dahlia checked the number, frowned, and patted Tally’s back soothingly. Virgil continued to fidget. “They… do you know anything about them?”

                Dahlia pursed her lips, rocking Tally back and forth as she thought. “I know a bit. I mean, there’s a lot of paperwork that goes into allowing people to adopt.” Tally made a low, unhappy sound, and Dahlia rubbed her back absently as she spoke. “I’ve got their background checks, heard about their interviews with other adoption agencies…” she paused, and gave Virgil a strange look. “Why? Did they say something? Did they make you uncomfortable?”

                Virgil stiffened. What would he tell her? They’d made the fire disappear. They said they could help with the mysterious fire. They were different… but a different that made Virgil hope for something. Something like a real ‘family’ experience. Would that work, though? Would they really know how to help him with the fires that chased him no matter where he went?

                Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Virgil realized Dahlia was still waiting for an answer. Biting the inside of his cheek, Virgil shrugged. “They said… they wanted to adopt me. Make a family, and stuff.”

                Dahlia was quiet for a few seconds. She had even stopped rocking Tally, much to Tally’s displeasure. The toddler started to whine again, bringing Dahlia back to her senses. She started to rock again, patting Tally’s back as a smile spread across her face. “That’s great, right? They seemed like really nice guys.”

                “Yeah, I just…” Virgil stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The paper with Patton’s phone number was in the right pocket. He folded it between his fingers as he thought, giving Dahlia a tired shrug. “I just wanna be careful.”

                After a minute, Dahlia stood from the table, holding Tally to her side was she went to the fridge. “It’s good to be careful, Virgil. But these guys really think you’re somethin’ special.” Virgil squinted at that, but didn’t say anything. Dahlia turned away from the fridge with a juice box hanging from Tally’s tiny hands. “They haven’t submitted any paperwork to me, though.”

                Virgil crinkled the paper in his pocket restlessly. “They said it was up to me.”

                Dahlia’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s good… right?” She sat back down at the table, helping Tally get the plastic top of the juice box open. She eyed Virgil over the table, waiting for any signs of negativity in his expression. “Virgil, is it a good thing?”

                “Yeah,” he whispered, glancing out the kitchen window. The streetlamp flickered at the edge of the street, and Virgil watched it illuminate the night-darkened sidewalk for a few moments. He slipped his hands out of his pockets, sliding the paper onto the table. Dahlia gave it a look. Virgil sighed. “I want to go with them… and I want it to work.”

                Dahlia sat back in her chair. “But?”

                Glancing up, Virgil felt the familiar, crackling pain of fearful, fitful hope in his chest. It sparked up through his nerves and into his throat. He tried to swallow down the feeling, but it didn’t lessen. He met Dahlia’s eyes shakily, and murmured, “What if it doesn’t? What if something weird happens?”

                “Well…” Dahlia sighed heavily. Tally had fallen asleep against her shoulder, juice box completely empty and resting against Dahlia’s breast as the toddler started to drool on her shoulder. Dahlia set the empty juice box on the table and gave Virgil a long, knowing look. “You never know how far you can go if you don’t take that first step, Virgil.”

                Drumming his fingers on the tabletop anxiously, Virgil watched the scrap of paper. It wasn’t going to dial the number itself. He would have to pick up the phone. But… what if Patton and Logan had changed their minds? His brow furrowed, and he watched as Dahlia crossed the room, set something on the table, and headed out into the living room with Tally in tow. Virgil cracked a smile when he saw what she had left: the phone.

                Sliding his hand across the table, he picked it up, dialed the number, and hesitated. There was something different about those men; something almost… supernatural. Maybe. Was that logical? Virgil bit his lip; so much of what had happened that day, only a few short sunsets ago, had seemed extraordinary. What if these men had higher expectations for Virgil than he could live up to? What if he disappointed them?

                Still… what was the alternative? Live the rest of his days in the orphanage until he aged out of the system? Or worse, possibly go through more failed adoptions and crumbling foster homes, frightening and scarring the people who dared to take him into their lives? Patton and Logan had basically promised that would end. They seemed so confident… so _sure_ that they could handle him. They could handle… whatever it was that was following him wherever he went. A ghost? A curse? Virgil rolled his eyes. He’d been reading too many ghost stories.

                Before he could talk himself out of it, Virgil pressed the green _Talk_ button on the phone. He bit his lip as he held the phone to his ear, listening to it ring a few times. It was late. Nearly eleven o’clock. Virgil’s eyes went wide. What if they were asleep? What if they were upset he called? Just a fraction of a second before Virgil could hang up, the line _clicked_ and he jumped when someone’s bright, alert voice greeted him.

                “Hello! This is Professor Sanders,” the voice announced brightly. Virgil squinted. Was it Patton, or did he have the wrong number? Was Patton a teacher? Or… was it Logan? No, no… Patton had been the cheery one. Logan had been much more down to earth. It had to be Patton. Virgil fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve. He hadn’t really thought of anything to _say_. Patton cleared his throat and tried again, “Hello? Anyone there?”

                Virgil opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had to say something. Patton would hang up otherwise. What would he say? ‘I’d like to take you up on your offer?’ No, that was too stiff. Wasn’t it? Virgil ground his teeth and tried to focus. He didn’t want to mess this up.

                There was rustling over the line before Patton spoke again. “Well, maybe I have a bad connection out here… but I can’t hear a thing. Hello… hello? Nope. Nothing.” There was a heavy sigh before Patton clicked his tongue. “Well, shoot. Guess you might have to call back some other time, stranger. I guess that’s –”

                Kicking himself, Virgil managed to sputter, “W-wait.”

                Surprisingly, Patton complied. “All right-y,” he said readily. “Take your time.” And just like that, Patton waited on the line, completely quiet aside from the low rustling in the background. Virgil felt a knot in his chest loosen just a bit. After a solid minute of Virgil trying and failing to find a way to start a conversation, Patton spoke up. “Just curious. Is this someone from my Charms class?”

                Virgil paused. What the hell was a charms class? “What? No.”

                “Ah,” Patton took a breath, then asked, “My tutoring group, then?”

                Virgil blinked a few times. Patton tutored people, too? “No.”

                “Oh,” Patton let out a relieved sigh. “Good. I was afraid the assignment was too hard, ha!” Just for a second, Virgil swore he could hear someone else in the background, but the words were too muffled to understand. Patton spoke back to them, though. “I’m not sure. They haven’t introduced themselves.” More mumbling in the background. “That’s rude, Logan.” A pause, then more incomprehensible muttering. “I’m not going to hang up on them. Go back to your crossword, honey.”

                “Um…” Virgil tried to push himself back into the phone call. Patton apologized, and Virgil shook his head. “It’s cool. Uh… I don’t know if you… I mean, you probably remember me, but, like… I’m…”

                Patton gasped. “Virgil! Oh, I was beginning to think you wouldn’t call.” His voice was distant when he spoke to Logan. “It’s Virgil! Yeah! Oh… not sure.” He came back to the call with even more energy in his voice. “What’s up, kiddo? It’s pretty late. Is everything okay?”

                “Y-yeah, I was just… thinking about what you guys said.” Virgil bit his lip. It should have been _easy_. To beg and plead to be part of something. To be _wanted_ and _loved_. He ached for it. So why couldn’t he just say it? He shuffled his feet under the table. “Like… about you guys adopting me?”

                There was a low, thoughtful hum. “Okay.”

                Scratching at the table with his fingernails absently, Virgil licked his lips and mumbled, “Were you guys… I mean, were you serious?”

                Patton paused, and when he spoke there was an almost hurt tone in his voice. “Of course we were, Virgil. We both think you’re a great kid.”

                Even so, Virgil hesitated. Past scars lingered on his heart, and they never failed to sting whenever he dared to hope. And now, the past reared its ugly head, grating on Virgil’s nerves when his heart leapt at the chance for love. For family. For… a chance to belong somewhere. Virgil glanced out the window, watching the streetlamp flicker nervously at the edge of the street.

                “Virgil?” Patton asked carefully. “You still there, kiddo?”

                Virgil wished he could hang up. He wanted to hide in his room, under the blankets with his headphones sitting heavily on his ears. Grounding and real. Reassuring even though Virgil knew it would never make him _really_ feel better. He huffed into the receiver of the phone, hearing Patton speaking to Logan in the background.

                He could ruin them. He could burn their house down without meaning to do so... and then where would he go? Back to the orphanage? Back to Dahlia. Virgil bit his lip, feeling the dry skin crack and begin to bleed. He licked away the blood, tasting the bitter, familiar copper.

                “I want…” Virgil whispered slowly, trying to muster up the courage to fight his instincts.

                “What’s that?” Patton’s voice so gentle, Virgil felt his heart swell at the sound. “I can… I can hardly hear you.”

                Virgil sat up straight, gathering every ounce of determination he had in him before he spoke, clear and direct. “I want to go with you guys. I do.”

                There was a noticeable silence that followed. Virgil couldn’t even tell if Patton was breathing. His mind raced; it was a mistake. They didn’t want him. They’d changed their minds, and now Virgil was grasping at an opportunity that no longer existed. He’d called them in the middle of the night for nothing, he’d – the phone rustled and clicked, and before Virgil could say anything, a new voice greeted him.

                “Hello, Virgil. This is Logan.” There was a pause, and Virgil heard Logan fumble with the phone as he muttered, “You need to breathe, love.” In the background, Patton squeaked something that Virgil couldn’t understand. Logan held the phone to his ear again. “Patton is indisposed at the moment. I think he got over excited.” There was more rustling before Logan said, “Here. Take your inhaler.” He spoke into the phone after a few seconds. “I’m sorry… I don’t often use the phone. Phone... phone? Am I pronouncing that correctly?”

                Virgil glanced around the room. Was that a joke? “Yeah… yeah, you are.”

                “Excellent. Well, Virgil, I’m fairly certain I know what you said to Patton.” There was a hint of excitement in his business-like tone as well. Virgil couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “The soonest day we could pick you up would be Saturday. Does that sound fine to you?”

                Virgil blinked. Just like that? No questions, no concerns? They just… wanted to pick him up. Simple as that, regardless of Virgil’s past horror-stories. Virgil let out a disbelieving laugh.

                “Y-yeah,” he breathed, hearing Logan chuckle on the line. In the background, he could hear Patton speaking quickly, his voice a whole three octaves higher than normal. Virgil chewed on his jacket sleeve for a second. “Do… do I need to do anything, or…?”

                “There will be some paperwork for us to do when we get there, but we can sort that out later,” said Logan. There was something in his voice when he spoke… something just a little more than pride. “I’m happy you called us, Virgil. I really am. If there’s something I can do to help you… anything I can do to make us seem more like a family, I’ll be happy to do it.”

                Despite hating the feeling of crying, Virgil couldn’t stop himself when he felt tears well in his eyes. He nodded fervently, scrubbing his hand over his face as he fought to keep composed. “Yeah. Thanks, Logan.”

                Over the line, Patton’s voice rang loud and clear when he said, “Virgil! We are going to have _so_ much fun!”

                And, for the first time in a long while, Virgil felt hope glimmer in his chest… and it didn’t hurt. He smiled as he held the phone close to his ear, the warmth of the phone soaking into his skin as he nodded. “Thanks, Patton.”

+++++

                “Got everything, kiddo?” Patton asked as they stood on the front step of the orphanage. Virgil hesitated in the doorway, looking outside to see Logan leaning against the car with a steady, easygoing expression.

                Paperwork had been signed. Dahlia had hugged Virgil many times. Logan had loaded Virgil’s bag into the back of the car. There was very little left for him to do aside from… leave. Turning around, Virgil saw Dahlia in the hallway, struggling to reign in some of the younger kids and keep them from racing out into the street. His heart twisted painfully; there was still a chance that he might be taken back. Patton and Logan could still change their minds.

                As if he could read minds, Patton put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. When Virgil turned to look at him, Patton smiled softly. “There’s no rush, Virgil. You want to say goodbye again?”

                Steeling his nerves, Virgil shook his head once. “No… I wanna go. Just thinking about stuff.” When Patton seemed unconvinced, Virgil tried to smile. “Seriously. We can go.”

                Then, Virgil clambered into the car with his… parents. He forced down the warm, gooey feeling that rose up in his chest at that thought. He had to be with them a minimum of a week to start thinking of them as parents. If he could get through a week without a fire... maybe there was hope.

                He buckled his seatbelt, watching as Patton put the car into drive, glanced at him in the rearview mirror, and pulled away from the orphanage. Without meaning to, Virgil twisted in his seat, craning his neck to watch the orphanage shrink and eventually disappear from view. He couldn’t stop the gnawing, insistent feeling that hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t have to go back.

                After all, these men had picked him despite the odd circumstances… right?

                Virgil turned around to sit properly, peeking out the windshield to watch where they were going. Two lefts, a right… then they merged onto a highway. There were a few, brief moments where Logan would reach over and grasp Patton’s thigh tightly – Virgil noticed this only happened when Patton merged into a new lane or took an exit – but he would eventually let go and return his hands to his lap. Patton never seemed to react aside from a thoughtful hum or a smile.

                When Patton glanced back at Virgil and saw the way he watched Logan, Patton smiled a little wider. “Don’t worry, kiddo. Logan’s just a little nervous about riding in cars.”

                “Motor vehicles are unpredictable.” Logan said as stiffened in his seat and braced a hand against the door when Patton changed lanes. “They aren’t even on well-designed tracks like a locomotive. People can drive incorrectly, instantly killing another passenger.” He glanced over at Patton. “It’s ridiculous. How can you stand this?”

                “I grew up riding in cars and buses!” Patton laughed and gave Virgil a wink over his shoulder. “Guess we’ll just have to be the brave boys of the family, right, Virgil?”

                As Logan muttered unhappily under his breath, Virgil cracked a smile at that and nodded. He sat back and watched the traffic, listening to Logan grumble at the sight of a police car pulling over a speeding driver. For almost twenty minutes, they rode in relative silence. The cityscape melted down into a lower, suburban landscape. Virgil liked being out of the city; there wasn’t as much of a rush in smaller towns. Everything was just more… relaxed. He liked the sound of that.

                Leaning over to catch a glance at the clock on the dashboard, Virgil quirked an eyebrow. They’d almost been driving for forty minutes. He leaned forward to nestle his shoulders between the passenger and driver seats. Patton gave him an amused look before returning his eyes to the road. Logan, however, seemed horrified.

                “Virgil!” He gasped, practically pushing Virgil back. “It’s dangerous for you to be out of your seat!”

                Patton reached over a soothing hand to pat Logan’s knee. “Relax, Lo. He still has his seatbelt on. Plus, I’m not planning on getting into an accident,” he smiled when Logan began to sputter, and he interrupted gently, “There’s a charm on the car, Logan. It’ll be fine.”

                Virgil’s curiosity perked up at that. When he’d called Patton earlier that week, Patton had mentioned something about charms. Some kind of class, or something? Was Patton some sort of spiritualist? He’d read about that once. Herbs and spices and incantations. Rocks that held energies and things like that. Patton didn’t seem like the type, but, well… Virgil had to right to go judging a book by its cover.

                Leaning forward to squish between the seats again, Virgil watched Patton carefully as he asked, “You’re a teacher, right?”

                Patton smiled widely as he adjusted his glasses. “Sure am, kiddo! So is Logan.”

                Glancing over at Logan, Virgil watched as the older man shifted uneasily. Virgil nodded. “That’s cool. What do you guys teach?”

                Neither man spoke. Patton’s smile drooped, and Logan kept giving his husband uncomfortable sidelong glances, as if Patton would rescue him from the conversation. As the seconds stretched into minutes, Virgil felt an odd, discomforting weight settle in the air. Logan’s fingers tapped against the doors and Patton’s knuckles were almost white as they gripped the steering wheel.

                “Patton,” Logan finally started slowly, his voice clear and meticulous with his chosen words. “We were going to tell him eventually.”

                Virgil sat back, reaching into his pocket for his emergency cell phone. ‘Only if you really need it,’ Dahlia had said. ‘Call for the police if anything strange happens.’ He didn’t know what these men were hiding, but whatever it was… he could handle it, couldn’t he? In the front seat, Patton sighed.

                “We’re scaring him,” he glanced in the rearview mirror, and Virgil saw the anxiety glimmer in his hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, Virgil. It’s just…” his eyes returned to the road, but Virgil could still see the way his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Patton gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “It’s hard to… describe.”

                Logan reached over to touch Patton’s leg, but instead of gripping it tightly, he just touched Patton’s thigh lightly. “May I?” Virgil watched closely as Patton shrugged, defeated, and Logan sat up a little straighter in his seat. “Virgil, we told you before that we understand your situation.”

                Virgil gripped the flip phone in his pocket tightly. “… yeah, you did.”

                “Well, it’s because we are in a similar situation. Patton understands a bit better than I, but I can empathize,” Logan continued. He looked over his shoulder at Virgil, a hesitant flicker in his eyes before he spoke again. “The fires were an accident, Virgil. You didn’t mean to cause them. But, you were the cause, nonetheless.”

                Virgil felt his chest constrict painfully. They blamed him. He knew it. Were they going to chain him up? Experiment on him? Should he call the police now, or wait until the car was stopped? In the front seat, Patton squirmed.

                “We’re losing him, Logan.” He glanced back at Virgil, then quickly diverted his eyes to the road. “Get to the point.”

                Logan blinked a few times before finally saying, “Magic, Virgil. It’s magic.”

                Once again, the car was quiet. Logan sat looking back at Virgil carefully while Patton drove, his hands still tight on the wheel and jaw clenched. Virgil looked back and forth between the two of them. Magic? Where they crazy?

                “We’re not…” Patton paused, took a breath, and sighed. “We’re not making this up. Think about it: how did all of those fires start? Why did it all follow you?” He glanced in the mirror, catching Virgil’s eye. Virgil looked away, but Patton didn’t stop there. “It’s because there’s something more in you, Virgil. I think… deep down, you know it, too.”

                Part of Virgil wanted to believe it. He wanted to embrace it wholeheartedly. The fires that followed him, the strange things that would happen wherever he went… was it all the result of something extraordinary? Leaning back against the seat, Virgil frowned as he thought about the possibility. Logan and Patton… were they magic, too? Was that how the fire disappeared? When he lifted his eyes, Logan was still watching him, unsure and pensive.

                Virgil licked his lips. “Magic,” he said slowly, like he was tasting the word on his tongue. “Like… magic spells and crystal balls and stuff?”

                Abruptly, Patton started to laugh, rocking forward in his seat as he struggled to keep the car straight on the road. Logan scrambled to hold the wheel in place as Patton wiped a tear from his eye, and he hissed his disapproval until Patton placed both hands back on the steering wheel.

                “Yeah, kiddo,” Patton finally managed to breathe, his smile still wide and bright as he watched the road. “Magic spells, witchcraft, all that good stuff.”

                Logan finally settled back into his seat when he was sure Patton had full control of his faculties. Once he was sitting comfortably, he looked back at Virgil. “The fires were caused by the natural flare of your magical abilities. An unusual amount of stress or a strong emotion can trigger a natural fight or flight response in your body, and your magic simply responds in kind.” He made a loose gesture with his hands. “Some people have found themselves breaking open locked doors without touching them. Others have triggered unusual events that will give them the opportunity to escape a harmful situation.” In the driver’s seat, Patton nodded thoughtfully, and Logan smiled back at Virgil. “Many young wizards experience this, though I was surprised to hear that you started fires.”

                “Wizards,” Virgil repeated.

                Patton nodded. “Yup,” he said, his lips popping on the last letter. “Trust me, it sounds funny now, but that’s just because you grew up like me; surrounded by non-magical people.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, and Virgil saw a twinkle in his eyes when he smiled. “But now that we’ve got ya, you don’t need to feel alone anymore!”

                For a few minutes, Virgil simply sat back and let the words sink in; magic, wizards… natural abilities. He glanced up at Patton, seeing the way Patton calmly surveyed the road as he switched lanes. Patton grew up like him. Surrounded by… non-magical people? Did that mean Logan grew up around lots of magic? Was there actually a place full of magic?

                Patton glanced back at Virgil. “Kiddo, there’s a school for magic, ya know. It’s where Logan and I teach kids… kids just like you.” Virgil’s eyes snapped to Patton, hanging on every word as Patton gripped the wheel. “We teach them how to use magic in a productive manner. It helps to have a good outlet for all that energy bustling in those little bodies.” He paused, then corrected himself, “I mean a more… _constructive_ outlet. One outside setting fires and breaking things.”

                Virgil ducked his chin, heat rising to his cheeks as Logan chuckled under his breath. Fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket, Virgil glanced out the window. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

                “Of course you didn’t,” cooed Patton gently. “You just don’t know what to do with yourself. But _now_ ,” he gestured to himself and Logan, “We are going to help you with that.”

                Logan adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Though, you are at a clear disadvantage.” He looked at Virgil over his shoulder. “Most children start developing their skills at ten or eleven years of age. You’re about a year behind your peers.”

                Virgil felt his stomach twist. “That’s… that’s bad, right?”

                “No, not terribly.” Logan turned around to sit properly in his seat. “If you hadn’t actually used your magic… if you had suppressed it and never flexed those skills, then… then it _would_ be bad.”

                “Would I not be a… a wizard, then?” Virgil asked. Patton was quiet, and Logan gave him a sympathetic glance. Virgil leaned forward and tried again. “What would happen if I hadn’t done those things?”

                Logan sighed. “Nothing good, I assure you.” He paused, watching Patton tap his index finger against the steering wheel anxiously before looking back at Virgil. “I’m sure you have a multitude of questions, Virgil. And we’ll be happy to answer all that we can.”

                Glancing back and forth between the two men, Virgil pursed his lips. “You guys teach… magic?” Logan hummed affirmatively, and Virgil scooted forward, smooshing his shoulders between the front seats again. “So like… what do you teach?”

                Logan pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, mostly. I’ve taught Astronomy, History of Magic, and even Arithmancy. I also teach a Potions course during the summer break.”

                Virgil’s eyes went wide. “Like… actual potions? Magic potions?”

                Logan gave him an odd look. “Yes?”

                “He’s just curious, Logan.” Patton reached over a hand to pat Logan’s knee. He winked at Virgil. “I bet Logan could teach you how to make some easy potions once we get home.” His eyes returned to the road when he murmured, “Maybe something with dittany…”

                Excitement – is that what it felt like? – bubbled in Virgil’s chest. He’d never been excited to go to a new home before. It was always panic. Fear. And ultimately, disappointment when he realized they were going to take him back. No, with Logan and Patton… things were going to be different. Weren’t they? Virgil practically vibrated in his seat when he looked at Patton.

                “What do you teach?”

                Patton couldn’t seem to stop smiling as he said, “Charms, mostly! Though I help with Herbology and Transfiguration sometimes.” He glanced over at Virgil. “It’ll be so fun to teach you, kiddo! There’s so much to learn and so many fun things to do!”

                Hesitating for just a moment, Virgil glanced out the window. The suburbs had made way to rolling, open fields. How far from the city had they gone? If things went wrong… if Virgil really _was_ as magical as they claimed and he set another fire, would they be able to put it out? If they weren’t, how long would it take for help to arrive? He bit his sore lip as he thought, and Patton sighed heavily.

                “Take it easy, kiddo. We’ve taught lots of kids before. We know what kind of hiccups to expect.”

                Logan made a face. “Hiccups?”

                “Mistakes, Lo,” Patton smiled as he took Logan’s hand and laced their fingers together. “It means mistakes. Mistakes happen, and that’s okay.”

                Virgil gave Patton a considering look. “I… it’s weird. Normally people don’t like mistakes.”

                Patton didn’t stop smiling. “Mistakes are how we learn, Virgil.” He leaned forward, squinting out the windshield for a moment before smiling. “See that house, out there? The gray one. That’s home, Virgil. We’re almost there.”

                The house sat on the horizon of green, lush fields. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d ever been so far from the city. The farthest family that had taken him was nestled somewhere in the suburbs, but even they were long behind them. Virgil held onto the shoulders of the front seats, staring at the house – still so far away – before he took a deep breath.

                “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

                Logan nodded and gave Patton a tired look. “It really is, isn’t it?”

                Looking a little guilty, Patton smiled and shrugged. “It’s better this way! No one bothers us when we want to practice new spells.” He paused, then lifted the hand that was holding Logan’s. “That reminds me, we need to register that new transfiguration spell with the MACUSA.”

                Logan pulled Patton’s hand close and kissed it. “I’ll find the paperwork when we get home.”

                “What would I do without you?” Patton smiled and gave Virgil a fond look. “He’s my hero.”

                Virgil ducked his head and smiled just a bit, sitting back so he could watch the house on the horizon grow closer with each passing minute. That would be his home. A place where the fires made sense and hopefully… never happened again. A place where _he_ made sense. Logan and Patton wanted him there. They want to teach him… to help him. Virgil smiled and leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He glanced over at Logan and Patton as they calmly spoke about some sort of lesson plan. Virgil couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

                For the first time in a long time, he felt hope well up in his chest… and he didn’t dare to smother is down. Not this time. Now, he embraced it.


	2. Breaking the Bow

                The earliest memory Virgil could recall was that of a tree. He didn’t know how old he was when he saw it, nor did he really care. It wasn’t very special. He didn’t remember seeing his parents faces or hearing any important words… it was just a tree. He could remember the sunlight streaming through the leaves, as if he’d been lying beneath it all those years ago. It glittered hazily in his memory, reminding him of what could have been his home. But not anymore.

                For the longest time, he’d been curled up in the city, rotting from the inside as he sat at a window, watching the world pass by. Every now and then, he would linger on that early memory. The sight of the tree, the sound of the leaves rustling in a hushed whisper of sound, and the delayed feeling of nostalgia that sat heavily in his heart. Part of him wanted to know where the tree was. Another part of him wanted to completely forget it. But… he knew he never would.

                Now, leaning against the door of Patton’s car and eagerly absorbing the sight of lush, green surroundings, Virgil couldn’t help but be excited. This was better than a memory of wide-open spaces. This was _real_. It looked like he could walk through the fields for hours and still not reach the edge. He could put on his headphones and just… walk. He could lose himself in the tall grass and glittering skies. Unlike the city, there would be no one to bother him. No one to _scare_ him. The land around Logan and Patton’s house was the definition of freedom.

                With one wide turn onto a dirt road, Virgil scooted forward in his seat to look out the windshield. The driveway was lined with trees, and all of them sheltered the car from harsh, summer sunlight as they drove. Patton smiled over at Virgil before glancing in the direction of the house. Virgil was floored at the sight.

                It was big, to put it bluntly. Two stories? Three? Why would two men need so much space? It stood, clean and freshly painted, amid the rolling fields. Virgil squinted; it seemed strangely out of place in the setting, almost like someone plucked a thoroughly modern house from a high-end neighborhood and dropped it in the field. His eyes went wide at the thought. Maybe that’s what it was. Maybe Patton and Logan could do something like that.

                Patton giggled. “You’re making some funny faces over there, kiddo.”

                Sitting back a bit, Virgil felt his cheeks burn. “Sorry.” He glanced up at the house as they pulled up to a small garage. “Your house is really nice.”

                “Wait until you see the inside!” Patton beamed as he undid his seatbelt and slipped out of the car. Logan followed suit, but not before struggling with his seatbelt for a bit. In the end, Virgil had to lean forward and press the button to release the buckle for him. Patton was waiting on the front porch when Virgil and Logan managed to step out of the car, and he called over to them, “Did he get stuck on the seat belt again?”

                Logan fidgeted with his glasses as he said, “You know I hate riding in this… this…” he waved at the car. “Contraption! I’d be much happier if we could Apparate wherever we need to go. Or fly!”

                Virgil bit the inside of his cheek. Apparate? Flying? Were those things he’d learn to do? On the porch, Patton groaned. “We can’t just Apparate in the city, Lo! Besides, it would probably make Virgil queasy.”

While Logan grumbled his displeasure with the car, Virgil took his small backpack out of the backseat. It was light. There wasn’t much that he had owned to begin with, but Patton and Logan had promised to buy him new clothes. Clothes that actually fit him properly. Virgil liked the sound of that. Until then, all Virgil had were a few hoodies and his ever-reliable CD player. And considering he still didn’t know if he’d really stay longer than three days, that was enough for him.

He slung the back over his shoulder and met Patton on the front porch, feeling his nerves prickle uneasily as he stared at the front door. Patton held a key in his hand, but didn’t use it. Instead, he watched Virgil carefully.

                “There’s…” Patton paused, chewed on his words, then tried again. “There’s a lot of magical energy in this house, Virgil. Let us know if it’s overwhelming, all right?”

                Virgil glanced up at him, his anxiety kicking in when he saw Patton’s concerned expression. “It can be overwhelming?”

                Logan stood behind them with his hands in his pockets, seemingly oblivious to Patton’s concern. “If it’s an issue, we can break a few spells and charms.” Patton fiddled with the keys a bit more, and Logan stepped forward, taking them from his hands. “It’s fine, Patton.” With that, he unlocked the front door, opened it wide, and indicated for Virgil to step inside. He smiled at Virgil’s pensive expression, his eyes soft and kind. “Welcome home, Virgil.”

                 As soon as he stepped inside, Virgil understood why Patton was afraid of overwhelming him. The house was _incredible_. High ceilings above him and a large staircase to his right… an enormous sitting room was to his left, and in a small, cozy chair, a pair of knitting needles were autonomously knitting away. Patton scrambled over to the chair, pressing the needles down against the cushion and smiling bashfully back at Virgil.

                “I forgot I left it going,” he giggled to himself as he wound a piece of yarn around his finger. Virgil huffed a laugh, more amazed than startled. Walking through the entryway and down the hall, Virgil admired the dozens of pictures that littered the walls. Each one was different, and each one _moved_.

The actions looped over and over… Patton kissing Logan on what was probably their wedding day. Logan and Patton holding each other, slightly swaying as they stood in front of their house. Logan standing with a group of very stern-looking people as a camera flashed again and again. Virgil squinted. Was that Logan’s family? Patton had a similar picture where he stood with a large group of smiling people. It was the only one that didn’t move.

                After he walked down the hall, giving each picture a long, disbelieving look, Virgil found himself in the kitchen. In the sink, the plates seemed to be washing themselves. A sponge floated out of the water and scrubbed away at the flatware, oblivious to Virgil’s presence in the room. He watched, slack-jawed, as the plates were rinsed and placed on a drying rack… all on their own.

                Distantly, Virgil heard Logan and Patton follow him on his slow, awed exploration, but he didn’t care. He kept walking. Wandering to the right, Virgil found himself in a den of sorts. A rocking chair rocked back and forth by itself. Virgil frowned at that. It reminded him of a horror movie. The rocking immediately stopped. Patton’s doing, probably. He didn’t mind it. He instead admired the way a watering can lifted itself from a nearby table and watered the flowers seated safely by the window. A book rose from the coffee table and slowly slid back onto a small bookshelf against the wall.

                “So _cool_ ,” Virgil breathed, turning in a circle to head back the way he came. Patton let out a sigh of relief, and Logan chuckled.

Past the kitchen and to the left was a dining room. Papers were spread across the surface of a large, oak table, along with several pens and pencils. One of the red pens hovered over a paper, indecisive, before it dropped down onto the table, lifeless. Virgil glanced back to the wizards of the house, hoping for an explanation. Logan ducked his chin bashfully as he stepped forward to gather the papers together.

                “I… I meant to clean this up.” He sputtered, obviously embarrassed. Virgil laughed once at the sight, watching as Logan waved his right hand authoritatively. Immediately, the papers on the table began to separate themselves into three orderly piles.

                Virgil watched for a minute, seeing the dismissive way Logan left the papers to sort themselves as he busied himself with gathering the pens and putting them away in a desk on the far side of the room. When all the paper had settled, Virgil narrowed his eyes at the piles; could he do that? Could he just… wave a hand and make things happen?

                Patton cleared his throat. “Logan just used a non-verbal spell, Virgil. He’s very good that them, but…” he gave Virgil a knowing smile. “Those spells are kinda tough to learn. We’ll get there eventually.”

                Virgil blinked, then nodded. Patton always seemed to know what he was thinking, but… no, no. That wasn’t possible. When Logan returned, he indicated to the stairs with a calm smile. Virgil led the way, feeling anxiety crawl up his spine and tingle in his fingertips as he glanced at the long hallways of the second story. Where was he supposed to go? As if on cue, Patton spoke.

                “The bedrooms are to the right. Mine and Logan’s is the one at the end of the hall… yours is that one,” he pointed to the nearest door on the right. “To the left, we have the bathroom, Logan’s study, and… I guess you could call it a lab?” Patton scratched a hand through his hair as he thought. “It’s... we mostly use it to make potions or tonics.”

                Behind them and still on the stairs, Logan hummed affirmatively. “It’s helpful to have a place to work on potions and solidify steps when I’m teaching my summer course.”

                Virgil’s mind spun; floating objects, charms, and potions… Logan and Patton knew everything about all of it. How much did he have to learn? When were they going to ship him off to school? What if he couldn’t do it? What if – Patton stepped forward to put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, holding him to reality. Virgil blinked himself out of his spinning thoughts and looked up, seeing Patton’s wary smile.

                “Easy, kiddo. Summer just started,” he gave Virgil’s shoulder a fond pat. “We have plenty of time to teach you the basics before school starts.”

                Virgil tugged on the shoulder strap of his backpack uneasily. “Logan… Logan said I was a year behind other kids.”

                When Patton gave Logan a scolding look, the latter man raised his hands in surrender. “It’s true, Patton! Virgil is twelve years old and he _still_ hasn’t learned how to control his magic.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “I blame the MACUSA for losing track of children who show magical promise in the American foster care system.”

                That didn’t make Virgil feel any better. He ducked his head shamefully. How much had he missed when he was shut in Dahlia’s house? Potions and charms… all of it was a foreign concept. He had an entire year of learning to do in two short months. Virgil scratched at the nylon of his shoulder strap haplessly, biting his bottom lip as he thought. Next to him, Patton sighed.

                “Let’s take it easy. We have plenty of time.” Virgil raised his head to give Patton an exasperated look, and Patton merely smiled. “We can worry about teaching tomorrow. Today, we should get you settled in, yeah?” Patton slung an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and tugged him toward his bedroom while announcing, “Today is a relaxing day!”

                The door of Virgil’s room was swung open, revealing warm, gray walls and hardwood flooring. A bed was neatly made in the corner of the room, covered in dark, gray blankets and adorned with crisp, white pillows. A small dressed was nestled beside it. Straight ahead, a large window let sunlight stream into the room, lighting up just how empty the whole place was… even a bookshelf was tucked into the opposite corner of the bed, void of any books or decoration.

                Virgil stepped into the room slowly, looking at the high ceiling and newly polished wood floor. It was big. Possibly bigger than the room he’d shared with six other boys when he’d been in the orphanage. What would he do with all this space to himself? What _could_ he do with it?

                In the doorway, Patton fidgeted nervously. “We weren’t sure what colors you’d like, so we went with gray. Just to be safe.” Virgil smiled at the gray blankets and muted walls. He loved it. Patton sighed, relieved. “Maybe when we go out shopping for your wand, we can pick up some new things to decorate the room. How does that sound?”

                Virgil sidestepped the statement about decorations and fixated on the beginning of the sentence. “A wand?” He asked, his voice all but dripping with disbelief. “I get a wand? Like… a magic wand? Like a fairy godmother?”

                Logan wrinkled his nose in distaste, but Patton laughed heartily. “Sure, kiddo! All witches and wizards have wands. We just have to find the right one for you.”

                “When do I get it?” Virgil asked eagerly before he could stop himself. His brain caught up with his mouth, and he looked down at the ground anxiously. “Is there… like a test? Do I have to do something?” He blinked, then looked up at Patton and Logan desperately. “What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not magic?” There was a pause, then Virgil was a little quieter when he asked, “What if… what if you’re wrong about me?”

                Logan put his hands in his pockets and gave Virgil a considering look. “We’re not wrong, Virgil. Trust us. And there isn’t a trial you need to finish to get a wand. You simply need to be of age… which you already are.” He glanced over at the empty bookshelf. “When we go out, we’ll have to get you some new books to read. Empty bookshelves are depressing.”

                Glancing over at the bookshelf, Virgil cracked a smile. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

                Looking back and forth between Logan and Virgil, Patton was beaming where he stood in the doorway. He was practically glowing with pride, though Virgil didn’t know why. He hadn’t done anything. Was he proud that Virgil hadn’t set something on fire yet? The thought would’ve made Virgil laugh if it wasn’t so nerve-wracking.

                “Well!” Patton suddenly clapped his hands together, and Virgil jumped in surprise before Patton began to usher Logan out of the room. “We’ll let you get settled in and relax.” He took Logan by the hand and lead him away. “We’ll be downstairs if you need us!”

                “’Kay,” Virgil muttered as Patton and Logan disappeared. He turned in a circle, giving the room – _his_ room – another long, hard look.

                Unlike the rest of the house, his room was stationary. No charms make the pillows straighten themselves, and there were no plants for any floating watering cans to water. It was empty. Shuffling over his new bed, Virgil dropped his backpack on the bed. He tucked his hoodie and jeans into the dresser. He carefully placed his CD player on his bookshelf, along with the book of ghost stories Dahlia had given him.

_“You were the only one who ever read it,”_ Dahlia had told him. “ _It makes sense that you should take it.”_

                When Virgil stepped back to admire his work, he frowned. The room was still terribly empty, and he had nothing else to fill it with. Except, of course, himself. He dropped his backpack onto the floor and opened the window. A sad, summer breeze washed through the room, and Virgil stared, wide-eyed and amazed at the endless fields beyond the house.

                The tall grasses went on forever, here. Shimmering slightly as they dipped and swayed in the wind, they beckoned Virgil to go outside. To walk through them. To get lost and never return. He gripped the windowsill tightly, then stepped away. He took his CD player from the shelf, put on his headphones, and laid upside down on the bed to see out the window. The wind ruffled his hair and stung at his eyes. He closed them, feeling the sun warm against his eyelids as he pressed _Play_.

                A guitar ballad swept over Virgil, drowning him in a nameless song as he lay, quiet and content, on his brand-new bed. They wanted him here. They wanted to teach him. To care for him. Virgil sighed, and let his head loll sideways against the blankets. Anxiety melted away to hesitant serenity, and Virgil breathed deep, inhaling the scent of sweet, fresh air. For a few seconds, he was at peace.

+++++

                When Virgil opened his eyes, the sky was blushing purple and pink, and the sun had sunken down, out of view. Virgil sat up slowly, pushing a blanket off himself as he did so. Patton or Logan must’ve come in and closed the window while he slept, leaving him with something to keep away a cold. Virgil smiled at that. He glanced down at his headphones. He shrugged them off during his nap. The CD player was quiet, and after a few seconds of inspection, Virgil found the batteries were dead. He would have to ask for new ones… unless Patton or Logan could conjure new ones? He’d ask later. He set the player on the bookshelf again, looking around at the room. His room, now. At least, as long as Logan and Patton would keep him.

                Shuffling to his door, Virgil paused when he heard singing. It was echoing through the large house, but he could tell it was Patton. Slipping out of his room, Virgil stood at the top of the stairs and listened to Patton’s long, drawn out notes and lilting vibrato. He’d never heard the song before, but it was mesmerizing. Something about a witch named Morrigan… and Ireland? After a few minutes, he heard Logan’s deep, smooth voice singing along. He wasn’t nearly as exuberant, and it was harder to hear him, but he was singing nonetheless.

                He descended the stairs slowly, listening to the way Patton sang loops around his husband, repeating verses as Logan hummed the melody. Glancing down the hall, Virgil could see Patton in the kitchen, swaying in front of the stove as a frying pan _hissed_ and _popped_ in front of him. Abruptly, Patton stopped singing and turned around to smile down at the hall at him.

                “You’re awake! Good morning, kiddo.”

                Virgil jumped at the excited greeting, but nodded. It was probably some sort of… magic charm that told Patton he was awake. Or something like that. He padded into the kitchen, breathing deep to smell something with spices and herbs. He didn’t know what it was, but his stomach rumbled at the smell. In the dining room, Logan turned around in his chair to give Virgil a look over the rim of his glasses.

                “Good evening, is more like it.” He gave Virgil a quick onceover. “I trust you slept well?”

                Virgil opened his mouth to answer, but Patton jumped in. “Were the blankets soft enough? We didn’t want you to get cold, but… oh! Were you too warm?” He held a spatula to his chest and his glasses were fogged up with steam from the stove. Virgil couldn’t help but laugh when Patton took off his glasses to wipe the lenses. Patton giggled, too, pushing the eyewear back onto his nose before saying, “Logan went up to check on you to find you sound asleep. Were you comfy?”

                Virgil stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded. “Yeah, it was good.” He glanced up at Patton shyly. “The room is really nice. I’ve never had such a huge room before.”

                Patton nodded, satisfied, before he turned back to his work at the stove. He stirred the simmering vegetables in the pan for a bit, looking thoughtful. “This house was always a little too big for just two of us.” He glanced over at Virgil. “I’m really glad you’re here, Virgil.”

                Virgil ducked his head, shrugging loosely. What was he supposed to say to that? Logan and Patton were… well, they were different. Things had changed so drastically for Virgil. Reality was a myth. Fiction was fact. Magic was – somehow – in his blood, and he wasn’t just some lost, cursed child anymore. Now he actually had the chance to _do_ something with his life. He didn’t have to be alone. That was… well, that was the nicest feeling Virgil had felt in a long time.

                At the stove, Patton stiffened. He turned to Virgil, a strange emotion in his eyes as he asked, “Virgil, can I give you a hug?”

                Virgil blinked hard before he shrugged. “Sure?”

                Setting aside the spatula, Patton wrapped his arms around Virgil’s shoulders and pulled him close. The embrace was tight but not smothering. Warm, but not stifling. Virgil stood with his hands awkwardly at his sides, his ear pressed to Patton’s chest and hearing the slow, even _thu-thump_ of his heartbeat. Rhythmic and steady like his singing. He didn’t know how long he stood there, in Patton’s arms. It felt nice. Some families had given him awkward hugs from the side when they said goodbye. Some had clapped him on the shoulder and wished him well. This… this wasn’t a goodbye hug, though. This was something else.

                Patton rubbed Virgil’s back soothingly. He held him, but not in a way that made him feel cornered. He was, for all intents and purposes, safe. And that… that struck a chord in Virgil. This hug wasn’t a goodbye. It was a plea. A hope that Virgil wasn’t going anywhere. A promise that meant Patton and Logan weren’t going to leave him. A mutual exchange. Virgil blinked, his eyelashes brushing against Patton’s shirt in a hushed whisper of sound. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around Patton’s middle. If this was what real hugs felt like, then… Virgil wouldn’t mind getting hugged more often.

                Eventually, Patton’s removed one arm, picked up his spatula, and began to stir the vegetables again. Virgil released his hold, and Patton smiled down at the frying pan as he said, “If you ever want a hug, Virgil, I’m always here.”

                Virgil hesitated for a minute, watching the way Patton smiled and sprinkled pepper over the simmering vegetables. Pushing his hands back into his hoodie pockets, Virgil nodded with a half-smile. “Okay.” He nodded toward the stove. “It smells good.”

                Patton puffed out his chest proudly. “It’s an old, secret family spice recipe.”

                Logan hummed from the dining room. “It’s a combination of –”

                “Logan!” Patton interrupted, looking horribly betrayed. “You can’t just tell him! He has to _learn_ the recipe.” He winked at Virgil and smiled again. “We’ll have to cook together one of these days.”

                Shuffling his foot, Virgil shrugged. “I’m not really… good at cooking.”

                “Practice makes perfect, Virgil,” said Patton calmly as he lifted the lid off a pot that sat on the stove. Steam rose in a grand cloud, fogging Patton’s glasses again as he sniffed the contents and smiled in approval. Replacing the lid, he leaned over to turn off the burner. “Virgil, be a dear and tell Logan to finish up. Dinner’s ready.”

                With a shrug, Virgil shuffled out to the dining room, seeing the array of papers – weren’t they in three neat piles once upon a time? – spread across the table. They looked like essays; they were all written by hand and each one was multiple pages long. There was a messy stack of papers that were _probably_ graded, judging by the red marks and notes along the margins, but there were still many left to be marked. Logan leaned over an essay, a pen in his left hand and his hair clenched tight in his right.

                “Hey, um…” Virgil tried to gain Logan’s attention. The older man simply hummed. Virgil kicked his foot back and forth uselessly. “Dinner is ready.”

                “Just a minute,” Logan muttered dismissively as he crossed out an entire line of writing and made a note at the bottom of the page.

                “Logan, put the pen down!” Patton called from the kitchen. “Dinner time!”

                “Just a minute,” Logan repeated in short, clipped words.

                When Patton stepped through the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands with a dishtowel, there was a strained smile on his face. He set the towel on the back of Logan’s chair and placed his hands atop Logan’s shoulders, massaging gently as he murmured, “The papers aren’t going _anywhere_ , Lo. But dinner will get cold.”

                Logan leaned back into the massage, but frowned nonetheless. “I want to get these finished.”

                “Oh, Logan,” Patton sighed, his eyes closed tight. Virgil quirked an eyebrow, wondering if he should give them a moment alone. That thought was brushed aside when Patton tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You’re thinking so hard, you’re making _my_ head hurt.”

                “I just wanted to finish this one,” Logan said as the hand holding the pen went slack. Patton shook his head.

                “You said that two papers ago.” Patton leaned forward and took the paper away from Logan and added it to one of the many piles. Logan grimaced, but Patton didn’t mind it. He simply bent forward and planted a kiss to Logan’s hair. “Dinner first, papers later.” He patted Logan’s shoulder. “Set the table, please.”

                Standing up slowly, Logan took a deep breath as he stretched his back. Virgil could hear the _crack_ and _pop_ of tired, aching joints, but Logan seemed unfazed as he stepped around the table and went to the tall china cabinet against the wall. Virgil followed for lack of better thing to do. Luckily, Logan noticed him before he turned and slammed a stack of three plates into Virgil’s face. Instead, he handed Virgil the plates and went digging through a drawer for silverware.

                Virgil set the table and nicely as he could. He wasn’t sure where the silverware went, so he just piled it to the side of each plate as Patton set a dish of steaming vegetables in the middle of the table. A large dish of pasta joined it soon after, and Virgil’s stomach rumbled at the sight. Patton laughed as Logan sat at the table, and he indicated for Virgil to sit.

                “Don’t just stand there droolin’, kiddo! Let’s eat.”

                Patton served everyone, and plates were passed around the table. Virgil eyed the far side of the long table where Logan’s ungraded tests sat, waiting to be judged. Logan looked at them, too. There was glimmer in his eye that was almost wistful. He only looked away when Patton scolded him.

                They ate quietly. It was a peaceable silence, but every few seconds, Virgil expected Patton to burst into flames from inactivity. But he didn’t. He tapped his fingers on the table and hummed while he ate, casting a smile in Virgil’s glance every time Virgil found himself staring. Logan didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation, either. But, strangely, Virgil found it bothering him. He was always a quiet kid, but now… now he wanted to talk. He wanted to learn something. Something about magic, or about his new parents, just… _something_. He looked to Patton for assistance.

                Right on cue, Patton cleared his throat. “So, kiddo… any questions about things so far?”

                Logan paused with his fork in his mouth, eyes narrowed at Patton in vague confusion. Virgil raised his eyebrows at the timing, but found himself at the loss. Questions? Of course he had questions. What would he learn, when would he learn it, what came first… those were just off the top of his head.

                He floundered under the weight of the questions, and instead of voicing them, he ended up asking, “What were you guys singing earlier?”

                While Patton beamed at the question, Logan’s eyes went wide and choked on his water. He probably didn’t know Virgil had heard them singing, and the poor man sputtered and coughed while Patton gave him a pitying look and a pat on the back.

                “We were singing the Ilvermorny school song!” Patton announced happily as he gave Logan’s shoulder another pat. “Our good ol’ alma mater.”

                Was all of that just gibberish, or was he serious? It _sounded_ like gibberish. Virgil pushed a piece of broccoli across his plate. “’Kay, so… what’s Ilvermorny?”

                While Logan recovered from his embarrassment, Patton adjusted his glasses and smiled proudly. “Ilvermorny is the American School of Witchcraft. It’s where we learned everything we know!” He paused, then elbowed Logan playfully. “Aside from the stuff Logan learned from his parents, of course.”

                Virgil sat forward in his chair, curious and confused all at once. “Is… is there only one school?”

                “It’s actually quite fascinating,” Logan said once he’d caught his breath. “For different regions of the country, Ilvermorny adapts and changes its structure and staffing.” He steepled his hands under his chin and smiled. “For example, we can make full use of Ilvermorny and its faculties to teach students from the Eastern part of the United States while other teachers – from the Midwest, South, and West, respectively – make use of the same space, at the same time, for their own classes.”

                Virgil blinked blankly. Absolutely none of that made sense. Next to him, Patton laughed.

                “It’s hard to understand when you hear it like that, but to put it simply, yes. There is only one school.” Patton leaned his chin in the palm of his hand and smiled at Virgil. “It’s kind of like… magical layers. Multiple people in the same place at the same time, but they don’t overlap in the same ‘space.’ Neat, huh?”

                Still struggling to wrap his brain around the concept, Virgil nodded shakily. “I think so… it… it sounds pretty complicated.”

                “It is,” Logan nodded with a smile. “The magical architecture and depth is just incredible.”

                Chasing a sliced carrot across his plate with his fork, Virgil nodded again. “How many classes will I have to take?” He looked from Patton to Logan, seeing the cogs turning in their brains at the same pace. He tapped his fork against his plate a few times, a little more nervous than before. “I mean… I’ve got to make up for the stuff I’ve missed, right?”

                Logan wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin and set it aside. “Though it’s true that you’ve missed a vital year of learning, you are in the home of two well-versed wizards.” He gave Virgil a considering look. “I believe we are more than capable of teaching you what you need to know in order to prepare you for the coming school year. Even before you get your wand, we can teach you potions, history, and arithmancy… all important subjects.”

                “B-but! It’s not all business all the time.” Patton fluttered his hands in the air, trying to remove the tension from the conversation. He leaned over and smiled at Virgil. “There’s flying, charms, and herbology! Virgil,” he set a hand atop Virgil’s, “We are going to have a _ton_ of fun.”

                Virgil’s heart jumped up to his throat. “Flying?” He repeated owlishly. Patton’s smile immediately drooped, and his expression took a concerned tone as Virgil mumbled. “I don’t like heights.”

                “Steady now, Virgil,” Logan said calmly. Virgil raised his eyes to catch Logan’s gaze. He was met with Logan’s thoughtful, planning smile. “We have plenty of work to do before we can start flying lessons.” He folded his hands atop the table and leaned forward, one eyebrow raised as he gave Virgil an expectant look. “Until then, we will need to focus and work hard. Do you understand?”

                Though his stomach bubbled anxiously, Virgil nodded shakily. He could make mistakes. He might start another fire. He might not be as skilled as Patton and Logan assumed him to be. Virgil swallowed thickly, only vaguely registering the feeling of Patton squeezing his hand. He nodded once more.

                “I understand.”

+++++

                “This potion is the first you would have ever made in school,” Logan said evenly as he set a small row of glass vials in front of the young man. Virgil nodded readily, watching as Logan filled a small rack with empty test tubes.

                After a leisurely weekend, Logan had greeted Monday with an all-business and no-nonsense attitude. Before Virgil had the chance to worry about it being his third day in their home, Logan had stated they would start working with potions over breakfast. Virgil had paused with his fork in his mouth; the once delicious eggs suddenly tasting like sand. Potions? On his third day with them? The third day was always when the fires started. The third day always, _always_ went wrong. While Virgil fretted, Patton had made a disconcerted face and tried to talk Logan into waiting another day. For a second, Virgil held an ounce of hope.

                Unfortunately, Logan didn’t want to wait.

                Logan insisted Virgil needed to get started with his lessons. So, as they stood in Logan’s small home-lab, Virgil couldn’t help but feel fitful anxiety scratch through his chest as he fidgeted with the hem of his sweatshirt.

                “It is a protective tonic,” Logan explained as he turned to a small bookshelf by the wall and pulled down an old, worn notebook. He flipped through the yellowing pages for a minute before stopping and laying it open on the worktable. It was a list of instructions. Virgil didn’t get a chance to read them before Logan went on. “It’s – essentially – a barrier that will line the bottom of your cauldron. It helps smother explosions and smoke should something go wrong while you’re mixing a potion.” He gave Virgil a sharp look along with a crooked smile. “It’s very helpful for young students.”

                “So… if I mess something up, this potion makes it so I don’t like… cause a huge explosion.” Virgil reiterated. Logan adjusted his glasses and nodded.

                “Many things can go wrong in potions, Virgil. We work with many unstable ingredients, but,” he smoothed his tie as he gave Virgil a smile. “With the proper knowledge, we can contain the volatile and control the unpredictable.”

                From the doorway, Patton sighed dreamily, holding his hand to his forehead in a dramatic, swooning display. “Oh Logan, you make my knees all weak when you talk like a smarty-pants.”

                Not missing a beat, Logan went to the door and shut it. Virgil didn’t miss the way the tips of his ears burned bright red as he adjusted his glasses and returned to the table. Virgil bit the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing, but couldn’t smother his smile when Logan gave him a sidelong glance.

                “Right.” Logan cleared his throat and indicated to the instructional notebook in front of him. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

                After reading the instructions several times – Logan had to point out exactly which ingredient was which – Virgil carefully began to separate the ingredients he’d need. Dandelion root, honeywater, and something called dittany were all added to a mortar. Virgil had to grid it all into a paste – which took a little longer than expected – before it could be placed into a test tube. When he was done, he looked to Logan expectantly. After a close inspection, Logan nodded in approval.

                “Now, this next part will require great concentration,” he said as he took Virgil’s hands and moved them until they hovered over the test tubes. “You need to visualize the effect your potion will take. It will be a safeguard, Virgil. Can you imagine that? A barrier that will keep you safe.”

                In all honestly, Virgil _couldn’t_. He tried to imagine the small test tube of light yellow liquid and ground leaves being anything other than ordinary. He tried to think of what would happen if a mistake occurred. Would it hold in the explosion? Would the smoke stay inside the cauldron and bubble like a sinister cloud? He bit his lower lip, staring at his hands that shook slightly over the test tubes. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t ask Logan. Logan already explained. It would be stupid to ask again.

                Before Virgil could rile himself up anymore, Logan leaned his hip against the worktable. “Are you thinking of it, Virgil?”

                Shakily, Virgil nodded. “Yeah… kind of.”

                “You need to be absolutely certain about what this potion will do. Potions also require execution of magical energy, just like any spell,” said Logan. He was completely calm, as if the idea of letting Virgil mess around with potions was a completely normal one. Virgil wished he had a bit of that confidence. Giving the vials a quick glance, Logan pursed his lips. “Do you have the purpose in mind?”

                Again, Virgil nodded, this time with a hint of fake self-assurance. “Yeah.”

                “Excellent. Now, close your eyes.” Logan crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. Virgil closed his eyes, noticing how his fingers trembled with worry. He didn’t want to make a mistake. He didn’t want to ruin anything. He didn’t want to – Logan’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Narrow down your thoughts to the potion. Study it. Turn the idea over in your mind. It is a barrier. It is protection.” He paused, and Virgil heard him take a deep, relaxing breath. Virgil followed suit, a cool, prickling feeling spreading through his limbs. Logan spoke again, “Virgil, what will this potion do?”

                Virgil didn’t open his eyes. “It… it’s going to be a barrier?”

                Logan almost sounded amused when he said, “Is that a question or a statement, Virgil?”

                “A statement.”

                “Good,” Logan said. The table creaked when Logan stepped away from it, walking around the room with slow, careful steps. Virgil followed the sound, his eyes still closed and mind still wandering. Logan asked again, “What will this potion do?”

                Virgil’s brow furrowed as he repeated, “It’ll be a barrier.”

                “Very good,” Logan said again. His footsteps came to a stop on the other side of the worktable, and Virgil struggled to keep his eyes shut as Logan said, “Do you have the purpose in your mind? Is it concrete? Is it understood?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil half-lied. Part of him didn’t believe in it. Another part wanted him to… but both sides fought, and Virgil couldn’t make up his mind. So, he nodded to himself, and lied again. “Yeah.”

                “Now, with that idea – don’t open your eyes yet – with that idea, do you feel a tug in the back of your mind? It can be a pull or a push in you; it’s reaching for the potion.” Logan sounded so sure, but Virgil had no idea what he was talking about. There wasn’t a pull or push in his brain. There wasn’t anything. He felt numb. He tried to remain passive as Logan continued. “It’s magic, Virgil. The magic has been in you all this time. It takes concentration. It takes effort. But it’s there. Draw it out. Linger on that sensation.”

                There wasn’t a sensation to linger on… it was an absence of sensation. Like laying in the snow for too long or standing up too quick on a hot day. Dizzy, heady, and a little sickening. Virgil swallowed thickly, trying to find whatever Logan was talking about… a pull? A push? It felt like he was drowning, going down, down, down… but still, he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t _feel_ anything. There was nothing. He was nothing. He was –

                “-gil? Virgil?” Logan’s voice sounded far away. Concerned and fitful… Virgil was still underwater and all sound was distorted around him. There was a distant, cold sensation pressed to his forehead; water? Cloth? Virgil couldn’t tell. Logan sounded a little clearer when he said, “I didn’t even see it coming. He just went so pale and then...”

                “He probably overwhelmed himself. Took too much at once.” That was Patton’s voice. Close and paternal and real. “He can hear us… Virgil? Sweetheart? Can you open your eyes for us?”

                Struggling to obey, Virgil’s eyelashes fluttered as he fought to open his eyes. The world around him blurred together, all vague shapes and lights that were too bright. After a few disoriented blinks, Patton and Logan’s features came into focus as they knelt over him. Was he on the floor? He looked back and forth between the two of them. Patton looked concerned, but Logan… Logan looked terrified. What had happened? Had he set something on fire?

                Blinking slowly, Virgil looked to Logan. “What happened?”

                “You fainted,” Logan breathed as he sat back. He took off his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You… Virgil, I…” he sighed heavily before he put his glasses back on and looked down at Virgil. “You scared the hell out of me.”

                Patton clamped his hands over the sides of Virgil’s head, trying to cover his ears but missing completely. Virgil ended up with one hand held to his forehead and the other caught in his hair. The one on his forehead pressed down on a cold, wet washcloth, and it dripped water into Virgil’s eyes as he lay, quiet and confused, beneath Patton. Completely ignoring this, Patton hissed at Logan, “Language!”

                “My apologies,” Logan grumbled, though Virgil doubted that he actually meant it.

                Slowly, Virgil started to push himself up, taking the washcloth from his forehead and setting it aside. Patton eased him into a sitting position, holding his shoulders as Virgil took in his surroundings. From the look of things, he simply collapsed at the base of the worktable. The test tubes were all still neatly lined up, and the potion sat unfinished in the rack. He glanced around at the walls and door… no scorch marks. No burnt paint. Then again, if he _had_ started a fire, Patton and Logan could have erased the evidence by then.

                Patton gave his shoulders a squeeze. “You really did gave us a scare, champ. How ya feelin’?”

                Virgil blinked slowly. “Kinda nauseous,” he mumbled. He turned to Logan, surprised to still see a frightened look on his face. “What went wrong? What did I do?”

                “What did you… Virgil, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Logan helped Virigl onto his feet, holding his shoulders securely as Patton stood to the side, just in case Virgil decided to fall over again. Virgil appreciated his forward thinking, but it only made him feel stupider. “You did everything perfectly and followed my instructions to the letter,” Logan said simply. He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “As Patton said, you may have simply overwhelmed yourself. You have little experience drawing out your magic, so instead of giving a gentle push…”

                “It steamrolled you, kiddo,” Patton finished with a hint of a smile. Virgil frowned at that. Magic could ‘steamroll’ someone? How did that work? Patton gave Virgil’s back a soft pat. “You’re at a difficult age. You’ve got a lot of energy and you just…” he spread his hands wide in a dramatic gesture. “It’s hard for you to control.”

                Virgil’s brow furrowed at that. Was Patton talking about magic, or…? Logan’s sigh broke through his thoughts, and Virgil watched the older man rub the back of his neck tiredly.

                “Perhaps we _should_ wait another day,” Logan finally mumbled to himself as he looked at the incomplete potion on the table. “If this is how it’ll end, then…”

                Feeling anxiety form a lump in his throat, Virgil grasped at the hem of his hoodie, looking desperately between Patton and Logan. What if he stopped today and _never_ understood how potions worked? What if everything went wrong before he could learn? The thoughts burned a hole in his brain as he gave Patton another frantic glance. When their eyes locked, Patton surprisingly took the hint and stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Logan’s arm.

                “Let’s not be too hasty,” he smiled, catching Logan’s eye. Patton squeezed Logan’s arm, and Virgil swore he saw Logan smile just a bit. “You only just started. You could give it another shot.” He turned to Virgil with bright, hopeful eyes. “It’s a learning experience, Virgil, and everyone learns in their own unique way. Now that you know what _not_ to do, you’re that much closer to making it work!”

                Logan looked downright lovestruck when he said, “That is a very astute statement, Patton.”

                “Then get back to it!” Patton laughed, waving Virgil to the table and sauntering for the door. Before he left, he leaned in the doorway and gave Virgil a wink and a smile. “I’m rootin’ for you, kiddo! You’ve got this.”

                Nodding shyly, Virgil rubbed his arm as Logan leaned against the worktable. The incident had left both a little shaken. Logan looked hesitant to continue and Virgil… Virgil just didn’t want to let Logan or Patton down. After a few uneasy seconds, Logan placed a hand on the table.

                “We can try again, Virgil. If you’re ready.”

                Lifting his eyes from the floor, Virgil shuffled forward. He lifted his hands over the test tube, just like before. He closed his eyes. This time, Logan didn’t move. He probably wanted to be able to catch Virgil if he collapsed again. They stood in silence as Virgil tried to narrow his mind down to the potion. Logan spoke softly, his instructions a word for word repetition of his earlier instructions. Simple, terse, and so very _Logan_. Virgil listened carefully.d

                “… now, I want you to try for that feeling again. Is it a push or a pull, Virgil?”

                Steeling his nerves, Virgil tried to fight his instincts; something told him to reach into that cold, numbing feeling. It would be easy to slip back into it, letting the cold creep up through his blood and run down through his limbs. No. Virgil took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to focus. A push… or a pull. He had to reach for that, and nothing else.

                Next to him, Logan shifted against the table. “Virgil? How do you feel?”

                “Fine,” Virgil said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. Logan’s responding hum didn’t sound convinced.

                Still fighting his nerves, Virgil took a stab in the dark… if he couldn’t find the pull, he’d just pull at the strange, swirling feeling in him. That anxiety, that worry… each thought that seemed to fold over itself in the dark recesses of his mind. Those heavy feelings that lingered in his brain whenever he tried to fall asleep. The fear that hovered over him every time he looked to Logan or Patton. The fear that he’d never be good enough… He’d find it himself. He didn’t wait for a sensation.

                “Fascinating,” Logan breathed.

                Opening his eyes, Virgil saw the one yellow potion had turned a deep, roiling scarlet. The liquid in the test tube swirled and churned, as if it were boiling in the tiny glass container. Virgil pulled his hands away and tucked them against his chest, watching the potion settled from its unsteady bubbling to a still, thick liquid. Logan adjusted his glasses and bent forward to give the potion a closer look, obviously intrigued. Satisfaction welled up in Virgil’s chest as he watched the appraisal.

                “Is that right?” He asked softly, tugging at his jacket sleeves.

                “No, absolutely not,” Logan said bluntly. The warm feeling in Virgil’s chest was quick to collapse in on itself, leaving him with the feeling of crumbling lungs and a shattered sense of confidence. Lifting the test tube, Logan squinted at the test tube before he turned it upside down. Virgil watch curiously as the potion remained inside the tube. It didn’t even move. Logan clicked his tongue and repeated, “ _Fascinating._ ”

                Virgil blinked. “What did I do?”

                “This is…” Logan turned the test tube right-side up and shook it slightly. It didn’t move. Logan quirked an eyebrow. “This is alchemy, Virgil. Changing one piece of matter into another… completely reworking the anatomical structure to create something new. It’s very difficult to master,” he gave Virgil a sidelong glance. “And also _very_ illegal.”

                Panic seized Virgil’s stomach, and he took a few steps back, looking down at his hands. Alchemy? He didn’t even know how he accomplished it, and he’d broken a law in the process. Looking up at Logan helplessly, Virgil pulled his hands into his sleeves and sputtered, “I didn’t mean to, I –”

                “Relax, Virgil. I’m not going to turn you over to the authorities,” Logan took the test tube and dropped it into a cardboard box with a sad _clink_. “You had no idea what you were doing. Actual alchemy was outlawed due to an influx of wizards and witches abusing magic to turn lead into gold. It was intentional. This,” he indicated to the worktable. “This was just an accident.”

                “Oh,” Virgil mumbled. Logan waved him forward, and Virgil dragged his feet as he shuffled closer. A new test tube was placed in front of him, and he went through the process of making up the tonic once more. When the test tube was filled with the bright yellow potion, Virgil held his hands over it and hesitated. He glanced at Logan. “So… I should _not_ do what I did last time.”

                Logan nodded with a bemused smile. “That would be preferable. Try to remember my instructions: it is a pull or a push in your mind. It will be a lingering sensation.” He straightened his glasses and nodded to the potion. “Try to focus on that feeling.”

                Frowning slightly, Virgil closed his eyes and tried again. He pulled last time. Maybe if he pushed those feelings away? Brushed them aside. Let fake confidence take their place. Light and breezy and… almost dizzying. Virgil let out a deep breath as he let the floating feeling take over. Not numb or cold. Just… elsewhere. Was that it? Was that the sensation?

                He opened his eyes to see Logan staring at him with a perplexed expression. Glancing down at the test tube, he saw the liquid had gone clear. No crushed dittany, no dandelion root… it was all gone. It looked like water. Virgil narrowed his eyes as Logan sighed.

                “That’s…” he glanced at Logan. “That’s not right either, is it?” It wasn’t a question. He already knew. He was never going to get it right.

                Logan took up the test tube, gave it a careful look, and shook his head. “No, it’s not. You’ve cleansed the potion, though. Clearing the honeywater until it was nothing but pure, unfiltered water.” He gave Virgil a sidelong look. “And all without uttering a spell. Very impressive.”

                Virgil blinked. “I didn’t… I don’t even know what I did.”

                “All the more reason to be impressed,” Logan said as he poured the water into the pot of a nearby plant. He dropped the used test tube into a box and indicated for Virgil to try again. “You have a lot of potential, Virgil. It’s just a matter of finding the right rhythm and process that works for you.”

                They tried several more times, burning through ingredients as time after time, Virgil managed to mess up. One potion turned black and bubbled down until it was nothing but ash. Another foamed over the edge of the test tube, bathing the table in light blue bubbles. One simply disappeared. Logan said it evaporated ‘at an alarming rate.’ That wasn’t comforting in the least.

                Now, they stood in the lab halfway through the afternoon. Logan held a damp cloth, dabbing at the side of his hand where one of the failed attempts at the potion had scalded him. Virgil stood with his hands over the test tube rack, tired and irritated. He wasn’t going to get this. Magic or not, he wasn’t getting anywhere with potions.

                “Calm down, Virgil.” Logan set the cloth aside and crossed his arms over his chest. “It may be frustrating, but it will be worth it. Once we find what works for you, we can move forward with other studies.”

                “Sure,” Virgil grumbled as he glared at the yellow potion. This was stupid. He wasn’t going to get it. He was wasting Logan’s time and ingredients. Logan was probably just as mad as he was… if not more. He sighed and closed his eyes.

                “Let’s try it again,” Logan said for the umpteenth time. Virgil felt his shoulders tense as Logan leaned against the table, watching him closely. “Focus on the purpose of this potion. Feel the tug in your mind. A connection from your magic to the mixture.” He paused, then leaned a little closer and asked, “Do you feel anything, Virgil? Anything at all?”

                Virgil frowned. He wasn’t getting anywhere. A numbness was spreading through his fingertips. It was cold… like his fingers had fallen asleep. This time, he didn’t fight it. He let the feeling wash over him. “Neither. I don’t feel a… a push or a pull. It’s cold.”

                Logan hesitated. “Cold?”

                Before he could think to fight it, Virgil was trapped in a discomforting situation where his body felt like it was being shut down, limb by limb. The feeling raced up Virgil’s arms, spreading through his body until he started to feel dizzy. He didn’t want to make another mistake. He didn’t want to faint. But he was feeling lightheaded and… no, not again. Virgil’s eyes snapped open, hoping to avoid the same mess all over again. Just as he did, the test tube exploded with a burst of flame and bright yellow smoke. It was like a firecracker going off right in front of his face, and Virgil yelped as he fell back against the floor.

                For such a small container, it shouldn’t have been able to produce that much smoke. Logan had stumbled back and hit the wall, fanning his hand and coughing heavily while Virgil sat on the floor, dumbfounded. Had he done that? Logan continued to cough until he managed to sputter some sort of spell. The smoke began to fade, being drawn back into a cracked, burned test tube by Logan’s spell.

                For a moment, they both simply stared at the glass tube. The contents were nothing but ash now, and the glass was scorched and cracked from the explosion. Virgil took a few uneasy breaths, glancing over at Logan. “Was… was that supposed to happen?”

                Logan reached up to straighten his glasses with a slightly trembling hand. “N-no,” he stuttered slightly. He cleared his throat and smoothed his tie against his shirt. “It was not supposed to happen…”

                Disappointment welled in Virgil’s chest. It felt like his heart was expanding like a balloon in his chest, full of frustration and too big be comfortable. His heart was going to burst. He could feel it. Virgil pushed himself up and raced out of the room. He could hear Logan calling after him, telling him to wait, but he didn’t listen. He’d messed up again and again. There had been a spark… a flame in that potion. He’d almost started another fire. If Logan had been any closer… if Patton had been there… Virgil clenched his teeth as he thundered down the stairs and headed for the front door. As soon as he stepped onto the porch, he collided with a very confused Patton.

                “Virgil!” He gasped, catching Virgil’s shoulders and smiling questioningly. “Are you –” his question was cut short as he gasped painfully and held a hand to his forehead. Virgil shrugged off Patton’s hands and started off toward the stairs, only to feel Patton take his wrist. “Nope. No, sir. You’re not leaving like that.”

                “Let go,” Virgil growled. At least, he thought it was a growl. It sounded more like a pathetic plea. Either way, Patton didn’t loosen his grip.

                “Tell me where you’re going,” Patton said sternly, his voice sharp and uncomfortable. “Then I’ll let go.”

                “I don’t know!” Virgil shouted. He was frustrated. He was angry. Why couldn’t Patton understand? He wanted to run. To shout. To hit things. He couldn’t even make the simplest potion. He couldn’t understand the most basic instruction. He couldn’t control his own magic. He stomped his foot, giving his arm a pathetic tug in Patton’s iron grip. “Just let go!”

                “Not like this,” Patton shook his head, his eyes narrowed and expression pained as he spoke. Virgil still tried to tug away, but Patton didn’t let go. “Please tell me what went wrong, Virgil,” he sounded so hurt that Virgil wanted to leave. And he genuinely sounded like he wanted to know…  but Virgil didn’t want to talk. He felt like a failure. He’d done everything wrong. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t… Patton pulled Virgil in for a hug. “It’s okay, Virgil,” he said softly. “It’s okay to be upset. But… you don’t have to be upset all by yourself.”

                Virgil didn’t even notice he was crying until he tried to catch his breath, stuttering on each inhale and coughing when he tried to exhale. Patton held him close, regardless of the way Virgil cried into his light blue shirt. He felt... well, he felt… he couldn’t describe it. For so long, he’d been fine with being no one. He’d accepted the fact that he was a kid with no parents and no future. Now, when he was offered the chance, he’d thrown it away. He’d done everything wrong. He couldn’t do the simplest task. He was a waste of space and time.

                Clicking his tongue, Patton pressed his cheek to the top of Virgil’s head and pet his hair. “You’re not a waste of space, Virgil. You _know_ that’s not true.”

                Struggling to catch his breath, Virgil simply shook his head and clung to Patton. His hands twisted in the back of Patton’s shirt, and he pulled himself as close as he could get. Soft, soft words and gentle arms surrounded him. Grounding him. Holding him to reality as his fears threatened to spiral into nonsense. Patton was real. Patton was kind. Virgil held onto that piece of reality, hanging on Patton’s existence with the hope that it would calm his raging frustration.

                “That’s it, big guy. Deep breaths,” Patton cooed as they stood on the front porch. The front door was still wide open, but Patton didn’t seem to mind. He simply held Virgil, swaying to and fro as Virgil slowly but surely started to calm down. Patton rubbed his back soothingly. “There you go. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

                “I…” Virgil gasped, trying to articulate what had gone wrong. “I just… I couldn’t e-even do… one thing! I couldn’t…!”

                “No one said it would be easy, Virgil!” Patton chuckled lowly. The sound reverberated in his chest, rumbling against Virgil’s ear as he held himself to Patton. “It’s hard for everyone when they just start out. Unless you’re Logan,” he sighed dramatically. “Logan was a show-off.”

                Still feeling tears slip down his cheeks, Virgil laughed. Logan being a show-off? It sounded realistic… but also hilarious. He laughed against Patton’s chest, feeling the way Patton began to giggle along with him. After a minute, the sad tears had turned into tears of laughter as Virgil fought to catch his breath. He still held onto Patton, clinging to him for dear life. And Patton… Patton simply pressed closer, swinging the two of them back and forth as they laughed at the thought of Logan dramatically flourishing his magic for all of Ilvermorny to see.

                After the laughter had subsided, they still didn’t let go. Virgil held onto Patton, his thoughts still swirling in circles. He plucked at the back of Patton’s shirt while Patton sighed.

                After a moment of thought, Virgil opened his eyes. “Patton?”

                “Virgil?” His voice was inviting and warm. Still, it didn’t make the question any easier to ask.

                Patton always knew what to say. Patton always seemed to know what was on his mind. He knew exactly what Virgil needed. And just then… he’d known word for word what Virgil had been thinking. Virgil pursed his lips… could Patton… could he read minds? Could he hear Virgil’s thoughts?

                Abruptly, Patton’s arms tightened around him.

                “Was… was I _that_ obvious?” Patton whispered, sounding more embarrassed than ashamed. Virgil shrugged, and Patton sighed with a smile, “I need to be more careful.”

                Not entirely bothered, Virgil continued to pluck at the back of Patton’s shirt. The hug was nice. He felt so much more relaxed when he was standing in Patton’s arms. Was that magic? Obviously hearing his thoughts, Patton laughed.

                “It’s not magic, kiddo. It’s just affection.” He rubbed his cheek against Virgil’s hair, eliciting a laugh from the young man. Patton laughed, too. “Affection is just good for the soul.”

                “Hmm… hey, can…” Virgil opened his eyes, pulling back just a bit to look up at Patton. “Can all wizards read minds? Can Logan do it, too?”

                “No, he can’t. But it’s… well, it’s… here,” Patton frowned a bit, and he gestured for the two of them to sit on the porch steps. Once they were seated, Patton sighed and clasped his hands together.

                “It’s called legilimancy, Virgil, and it’s very rare.” He sounded almost nostalgic as he said, “For a long time, people with legilimancy in America were persecuted because of their abilities. These days… not so much.” He gave Virgil a smile as he said, “A long time ago, people thought that legilimens – people who could read minds – were using some sort of spell to hear the thoughts of others. But that’s not true. It’s just an ability we’re born with. That, however, wasn’t _really_ proved until the 1950’s.” Patton laughed a bit to himself. “Good thing I was born in the 80’s, huh?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil mumbled. He gave Patton a sidelong glance. What was it like, hearing everyone’s thoughts day in and day out? Didn’t it get tiring? Didn’t it overwhelm him?

                Next to him, Patton winced. “You can just ask me out loud, Virgil. I won’t be mad.” He smiled as he leaned his elbows on his knees and spoke. “It does get tiring. And more often than not, I get my feelings hurt by listening to the thoughts of others. People can be very mean, Virgil.”

                Virgil fidgeted with his shirt sleeves. “Can you turn it off?”

                “Like a light switch?” Patton asked with a laugh. “No, I can’t. But I can focus on my own thoughts… it kind of drowns out other people. It takes a lot of effort, though.” Patton stared off into the green, distant fields as he murmured, “After a while, it feels like you’re going numb.”

                “I know how that feels,” Virgil mumbled. “I didn’t feel anything.” Patton hummed questioningly, and Virgil ducked his chin into the fabric of his hoodie. “Logan said there should be a push or pull when I was working on the potion but I… I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything.”

                After a moment of thought, Patton turned to him with a small smile. “Sounds like you’ve got a wall put up, kiddo.”

                Virgil wrinkled his nose. “A wall?”

                “A wall,” Patton repeated. “It’s hard to let magic flow if you’re all cooped up inside your head.” He gave Virgil a pat on the back. “You just need to let yourself feel things, Virgil. Don’t deny your own emotions.”

                “How do I do that?” Virgil grumbled as Patton stood up and stretched his arms above his head. Patton smiled at his defeated expression and nodded to the car. Holding out his hand, Patton waited until Virgil took it and stood from the front porch.

                “Let’s go for a drive, kiddo. I’ve got an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> See you next chapter.


	3. Thunder at Daybreak

                Car rides with Patton were enjoyable. Granted, this was only the second time Virgil had ridden in the car with Patton, but still… there was something soothing about having Patton behind the wheel. He tapped the steering wheel with his index finger lazily with the easygoing smile that he always seemed to wear. The radio was humming at a volume that was almost inaudible, but Virgil didn’t mind. He sat in the passenger seat and watched the fields fly by as Patton drove them to an unknown destination.

                Logan had been standing in the doorway when they’d left. He was still holding the hand that had been scalded by Virgil’s mistake, but he hadn’t seemed angry. He simply nodded and wished them well as they got in the car. No fighting, no questions… he trusted Patton.

                So why couldn’t Virgil?

                He felt anxious as they drove to their mystery destination. Was there even a destination in mind, or was the car ride the entire point of the trip? Maybe they wouldn’t stop. They’d drive for hours, looping around the endless fields just to end up back home. This _was_ Patton, so maybe he wanted Virgil to talk to him. To tell him about his deep, dark past. Virgil frowned; couldn’t Patton just read his mind and know all about it? He didn’t want to talk about the past.

                Glancing over at Patton, Virgil saw nothing in his expression that gave anything away. Of course not. Patton seemed like an open book, but he knew when to paste on a smile and seem oblivious. Virgil was learning that quickly.

                “Where are we going?” He asked softly, trying to keep a hostile edge out of his voice.

                “We are gonna bust down that wall of yours, Virgil,” he said simply. They took no turns. They simply continued forward on an endless road. “You’ve got a lot of frustration built up inside of you. You need to learn how to let it all out.”

                Virgil narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

                “Because you’re just like me, Virgil.” Patton looked at him with a knowing smile before returning his eyes to the road. “You get mad and upset but you don’t let it show. You let it simmer for a while until it just… boils over.” He gripped the steering wheel and sighed a little. “It’s not good for you. Especially not at this age. You need to learn to be comfortable with yourself and your emotions.”

                Kicking his feet at the floormats, Virgil turned to look out the window again. “I don’t really want to be comfortable with my emotions.” He chewed his lip as Patton remained silent. “I mean how are you gonna break down the wall, anyway?”

                “We’re gonna go somewhere people can’t bother us,” Patton answered readily. “And we’re going to let it all out. Unbottle all that adolescent frustration you’ve got rattling around in you.”

                Virgil frowned. Did Patton know how bad that sounded? How oddly inappropriate it seemed? Going somewhere no one could hear them, releasing his adolescent frustration... it sounded very…

                Patton sighed. “It’s not sexual, Virgil.”

                Virgil jumped in his seat a bit, giving Patton a disbelieving look. “Wow. You just… you just _said_ it.” He scrubbed a hand over his burning face as Patton quirked an eyebrow. “You just went out and said it. Out loud.”

                Patton’s brow furrowed. “Sex?”

                Virgil hid his red face behind his hands. “Stop… saying it.”

                “There’s nothing wrong with sexual urges, or lack thereof, Virgil. It’s just hormones.” Patton laughed a bit when Virgil groaned and fell sideways against the door. “You’re a young man and your body is going through changes… there’s nothing to be ashamed of, Virgil. It’s completely natural.”

                “Oh my god,” Virgil whined, still trying to hide behind his cold hands. “I don’t wanna talk about this. Especially not now.”

                Patton shrugged. “That’s fine. You don’t have to. But,” he gave Virgil a sidelong look. “If you ever have questions, feel free to ask. It’s okay to be confused about your body sometimes, kiddo.”

                “Yeah, okay, I get it.” Virgil said as he tucked his hands under his thighs. Patton chuckled a bit as he tapped the steering wheel. Virgil gave him a look. “If it’s not… _that_ … then what are we gonna do?”

                After a brief moment of thought, Patton sighed. “Virgil, do you ever just… get mad? Do you let yourself get upset when something bad happens?”

                Virgil shrugged. “Sometimes…” he paused. No. That wasn’t true. He hated being noticed by others in the orphanage. He hated being the center of attention. When things didn’t go his way, he cornered himself in his room. He put on his headphones. He drowned in the music. Virgil fidgeted; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually vocalized his complaints to Dahlia. He looked back to Patton, seeing a stern expression on his normally happy face. “No. I don’t really get mad.”

                “You bottle it up.” Patton nodded. “I do that, too. But here’s the thing, kiddo… it’s not good for you. You need to let yourself _feel_ things. Repressing emotions and pushing down unpleasant things… it’s a great way to stifle magic and sensation.” He glanced at Virgil from the corner of his eye. “Ultimately, it’s unhealthy with or without magic.”

                Virgil shifted in his seat. He felt like he was being scolded. Scolded… for what? Not being mad? For not throwing tantrums when he didn’t get his way? He fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves while Patton slowed the car and took a left turn.

                “I’m not saying you should throw tantrums,” Patton said softly. The car approached a line of tall, impressive trees, and it wasn’t long before the sun was blotted out by the thick branches. They drove until they were completely surrounded by the trees, and when Patton seemed satisfied, he stopped the car. He sat with his hands in his lap, looking at Virgil with a calm, warm smile. “We had a good cry on the porch, but I don’t think you really let out all that frustration.”

                Virgil shrugged loosely. “I don’t know… I guess not?”

                “Exactly.” Patton undid his seatbelt and clambered out of the car, calling behind him, “We’re going to yell it out, Virgil.”

                And then the car door slammed shut, leaving Virgil alone with his confusion. Yell it out? He wasn’t serious, was he? Slowly, Virgil unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped out of the car. Patton stood amid the trees with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. He looked satisfied with himself, even though they hadn’t done anything yet. Virgil tucked his hands into his pockets and shuffled over until he was standing next to him. Patton smiled down at him.

                “Ready?” He asked, so open and excited. Virgil almost found his exuberance comical; he was excited about yelling at a bunch of trees in the middle of nowhere. Patton shook his head and clicked his tongue, waving his finger to and fro in a scolding gesture. “No, no… we’re not just yelling. We’re letting out all the frustration. Breaking down that wall in your brain.”

                Virgil hunched his shoulders a bit, glancing back at the car wistfully. This was weird. He didn’t need to yell or let anything out… he’d survived this long without doing it. Couldn’t he just keep shoving down those bad feelings? Next to him, Patton clapped his hands together loudly. Virgil jumped at the sound, staring at Patton as he took a few official steps forward.

                “I’ll go first, ‘kay? Show you how it’s done.”

                Virgil made a face at that, watching as Patton took a deep, long breath. His fists clenched. Virgil couldn’t see his face. He just watched Patton’s back as he leaned forward and let out the most blood-curdling scream Virgil had ever heard.

                Virgil stumbled a few feet back, eyes wide as Patton yelled loud enough that his voice bounced off the trees, echoing eerily among the branches. Of course, it would’ve been fine if it was just yelling. That would’ve been normal, to some extent. What really frightened Virgil was the deafening _crack_ and groan of trees as branches snapped and fell down onto the grass. Some trees earned a long, jagged crack that worked its way up the trunk, fracturing and widening when Patton took another breath and screamed again.

                Just as quickly as it happened, it all stopped. Patton caught his breath, looking out at the damage he’d done. Tree branches littered the ground. There were patches of sunlight streaming through the trees where leaves once sheltered them. Patton didn’t seem to mind it. His hands went back to his hips, and his shoulders relaxed. He almost looked proud of himself. Glancing back at Virgil, he waved him forward.

                “Your turn!”

                Virgil gave him a horrified expression. He didn’t want to do… _whatever_ Patton just did. He’d destroyed so many trees just by yelling. Magic was terrifying. He didn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if Patton let out that kind of scream in a crowd full of people. Would they have snapped and fractured? Could magic kill someone so swiftly?

                “Virgil,” Patton said softly, tugging Virgil out of his thoughts. While he’d been panicking, Patton had approached him, bending down to see eye to eye with him. He smiled. “Yes, magic can be scary. But it can also heal.” He waved to the forest. “I can restore these trees when we’re all done, and it’ll be like it never happened. As for being in a crowd…” he gave Virgil a sad look. “I would never want to harm someone. That’s why we’re all the way out here.”

                Scratching at the lining of his hoodie pockets, Virgil squirmed under Patton’s fatherly gaze. “How… how is this supposed to help?”

                “There’s tension in your head, kiddo. A line that marks what’s there… and what’s not. It’s keeping you from tapping into your magic. I think this will help loosen things up.” He wrapped an arm around Virgil and pulled him forward, plopping him into the place he’d been standing only a few minutes earlier. “Give it a try, Virgil. If you don’t like how it feels, we’ll go home. No questions asked.”

                Fidgeting a bit, Virgil stared out at the trees. Feelings were piled up in a corner of his mind, and he never knew it was piled up so high it was blocking his magic. Until a few days ago, he wasn’t even aware there was magic in his brain to begin with. But, if Patton was right, then he’d be able to make potions. He could _do_ something. He could _be_ somebody.

                Taking his fists out of his pockets, Virgil took a few, unsteady breaths. He could do this. Just a little shout. That’s all it took, right? He shifted where he stood. He took a deep breath, and…

                He took a step back, looking at Patton desperately. “This is too weird.”

                Patton smiled. “That’s okay, kiddo. It’s not an easy thing to do.” He swayed where he stood, giving Virgil a fond look. “No one _likes_ feeling mad. But sometimes… you just gotta get mad and let it all out.”

                Virgil’s brow furrowed. “Mad?”

                “Yup!” Patton smiled, his lips popping on the ‘p’ as he nodded. “Think about what makes you mad, Virgil. Anything that frustrates you. Things you wish you said but never did. All those nasty things.” Patton spread his arms wide. “And let it out!”

                Mad, huh? Virgil turned back to the trees. He could barely remember the last time he’d been mad enough to yell. He’d been pushing things down longer than he thought. But, as he stood in the trees thinking, frustration steadily bubbled up inside him.

                He was angry that he couldn’t understand magic. Frustrated that he couldn’t understand what went wrong with Logan. He was irritated with Patton and his ‘feelings are normal’ nonsense. He was angry that all of those past families took him back to the orphanage. Mad that his real parents didn’t want him. Upset that he wasn’t like normal kids. He was so angry, he didn’t even know it was there. He was angry. All the time. It _was_ simmering in his brain, just like Patton had said. It was waiting for the chance to come out. Waiting for Virgil to snap and finally break down.

                And so, Virgil snapped.

                He took a deep breath and screamed, angry and ready to tear at the seams. Tree branches burst into flame, a thundering _crack_ echoing through the small patch of forest. Like lightning had hit the trees, they flashed and popped as they erupted with flame. Behind him, Patton whooped and hollered.

                “That’s it, Virgil! Get mad!”

                And he did. He stomped his feet. He shouted insults at the families that never wanted him. He screamed about Dahlia ignoring him. He screamed that his parents should have love him more. He screamed nothing. Just a long, wailing note as flames ignited around him.

                After a few minutes, Virgil couldn’t yell anymore. He stopped short, gasping for breath as he watched the trees crackle and burn. His throat was sore. His head hurt. But still… there was a lightness in his chest. An almost dizzying sensation that left him almost tranquil in the aftermath. He didn’t even notice Patton was behind him until two warm, supporting hands landed on his shoulders.

                “See all that?” Patton said softly. “That’s what’s been rumbling around in you. Next time you’re upset, let your body process it.” He leaned down to catch Virgil’s awed gaze. “And we can avoid letting it get this bad again, yeah?”

                Nodding numbly, Virgil watched as Patton stepped forward. He pulled something out of his pocket. A stick? No… it must’ve been his wand. Virgil watched Patton as he gave a slow, smooth wave. The flames abruptly went out, leaving nothing but a faint _hiss_ as hints of smoke rose from the branches. Virgil didn’t understand the language Patton used when he said a spell, but it his movements were almost ethereal as he twirled and flicked his wand in the direction of the trees. The cracks healed and branches rose from the ground, mending themselves and re-growing burned leaves.

                Just like that, it was as if nothing had happened. The trees were green and lush as ever. Patton slipped his wand back into his pocket. Virgil squinted at that; how did it fit in there? Patton simply turned on his heel, slung an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, and sighed happily.

                “How ya feeling, Virgil?” He asked, his voice all sunshine and warmth. Virgil couldn’t help but smile back. The lightness was starting to settle back into a familiar, steady weight, but there was still a hint of relief that glittered in Virgil’s chest.

                “I feel pretty good,” he admitted, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat as they meandered back to the car. “My throat is kinda sore, though…”

                “Yeah, screaming at trees will do that to ya, kiddo,” Patton laughed. When they finally climbed back into the car, Patton winked at Virgil and said, “Good thing we won’t do this all the time.”

                Buckling his seatbelt, Virgil huffed a laugh. “Sure.”

                The car ride back home was relatively quiet. Patton turned up the radio, listening to a local weather station announce something about the clouds. Virgil stared out the window, glancing in the side mirror every so often to see the trees shrinking in the distance behind them. Something still lingered in his mind. He knew why he was mad. He stated it outright when he yelled. But Patton… he’d just been mindlessly screaming. No words. Just a guttural, angry shout.

                He glanced at Patton. “Hey.”

                “Hay is for horses, kiddo,” Patton smiled, turning down the radio. “What’s up?”

                Virgil paused. “What were you mad about?” Patton’s expression remained neutral, and Virgil pushed the subject. “Back there. With the trees. You seemed pretty upset.”

                Patton’s fingers tapped the steering wheel. Restless. Anxious. He didn’t want to talk about it, Virgil could see. But it almost seemed unfair. Virgil had to share his feelings and Patton didn’t? He could just hide all of the feelings and pretend it wasn’t a big deal? Virgil frowned and looked out the window. Patton was probably just going to brush him off. Adults did that to him all the time.

                Patton sighed. “You don’t need to guilt trip me, Virgil. I’m just… trying to find the right way to word it.” His fingers _tap, tap, tapped_ until Virgil was sure it would drive him crazy. Patton immediately stopped, his mouth set in an uncomfortable smile. “You know how I told you people can be very mean?” Virgil nodded, and Patton sighed. “They think they’re being polite when they keep all of their nasty thoughts to themselves. But I can still hear them.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “I’m not stupid.”

                Virgil blinked. “Why would someone call you stupid?” He paused, then backtracked. “I mean… why would they… _think_ … you’re stupid?”

                Quickly refreshing his smile, Patton heaved a fake, silly sigh. “Oh, who knows why anyone does anything. People are just silly sometimes.”

                “But it hurts your feelings,” Virgil muttered, watching the way Patton’s eye twitched involuntarily. “It’s not fair that you just have to ignore it.”

                “It’s not fair that you don’t express yourself, either,” Patton shot back with a smile. He glanced over at Virgil. “Maybe that’s something we’ll have to work on together.”

                For a moment, Virgil watched Patton. The way he gripped the wheel, the way his left foot tapped the floor of the car anxiously, the way the speedometer jumped up when he hit the gas too hard, only to sink back down when Patton noticed what he’d done. He was frustrated all over again. Because of Virgil’s questions, probably. Shifting in his seat, Virgil wiggled his toes in his worn-out converse.

                “Hey, Pat?” He asked, catching a glimpse of Patton’s genuine smile. “Do I make you mad sometimes? Like, when I think of things?”

                Patton’s smile drooped a bit. “No, you don’t make me mad, Virgil. But, sometimes…” he hesitated, moving his hands on the wheel a bit. “Sometimes you make me sad. You think so low of yourself, Virgil.” He looked at Virgil and smiled sadly. “You’re a great kid. I wish you could see yourself the way Logan and I do.”

                Curling in on himself, Virgil ducked his chin. He wasn’t great… why would Patton think that? Turning to the window, Virgil watched as they flew past the fields. They’d both let out a lot of frustration, and if Patton was telling the truth, none of it had to do with Virgil. Somehow, that made Virgil feel good. Patton really enjoyed having him there. That light feeling bloomed in his chest, making each inhale feel like blessing and each exhale a contented sigh.

                Virgil blinked in realization. He was happy. Truly, uncaringly happy. He was happy to be part of something. Happy that he didn’t have to hide his frustration. Happy that Patton encouraged him to _feel_ things. Happy that Logan was pushing him to be the best he could be. Virgil smiled a little bit as he leaned his head against the window, his hands relaxed and not fidgeting as they sat in his lap. He only looked up when Patton placed a hand on his knee and smiled.

                “That feeling, Virgil?” He said softly. “Hold onto it. Don’t ever forget it.”

                Virgil smiled, watching as Patton placed his hand back on the wheel. He leaned his head against the window again, enjoying the light, tingling feeling in his chest. “I won’t.”

+++++

                “You’re back,” Logan said, looking up from the paper he was reading. He was sitting comfortably in the living room when Patton and Virgil had come through the front door, and he gave them a considering look as they stepped over the threshold. “I assume everything is alright?”

                “Yeah,” Patton nodded, adjusting his glasses as he sauntered up to Logan and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Logan blinked, but didn’t smile. His eyes seemed focused on Virgil. Patton didn’t mind that. “We went for a drive. Talked about some stuff. Had some wholesome family fun.” He smiled at Virgil. “Right, kiddo?”

                Fumbling for words, Virgil glanced back and forth between Logan and Patton. Having nothing better to say, Virgil mumbled, “I set a tree on fire.” Patton snorted as he tried to hold in his laughter.

“I see,” Logan said as he quirked an eyebrow.

Virgil felt his cheeks burn as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

                “I assumed,” Logan said, sounding more entertained than alarmed. Patton sat on the arm of Logan’s chair, his fingers carding through Logan’s dark, chestnut hair as he continued to stifle his laughter. Logan folded his paper across his knee, leaning back into Patton’s hands and looking up at him questioningly. “And performing arson will help because…?”

                “Because _feelings_ , Logan,” Patton said officially. He combed his fingers through Logan’s hair gently, nodding to himself officially. He gave Virgil an amused wink. “Feelings are important.”

                Though Logan nodded, Virgil had a feeling he didn’t quite understand. There was a line that marked his brow, and it didn’t go away when Patton stood up and sauntered into the kitchen. Logan watched him go, keeping a careful eye on his retreating back until Patton rounded the corner.

                “Setting trees on fire…” Logan mumbled to himself as he set aside his newspaper and waved Virgil toward the stairs. They went back into the lab, and Virgil watched closely as Logan rearranged several different vials with the soft, sweet, _clink_ of glass against glass. “I’m not sure I understand, but the two of you seemed in better spirits after you came back.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil nodded, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. “Sorry…”

                Logan paused his movements, his hand hovering over the small cauldron on the table. He gave Virgil a perplexed look. “For what? I don’t understand.”

                “I’m sorry I ran away before,” Virgil reiterated. Logan’s expression softened, and he resumed his task of gathering a few leaves of dittany and crushing them in the mortar. Virgil watched passively, kicking his foot idly as Logan prepared the same tonic they’d been mixing for over two hours before. Logan’s left hand was swaddled in a bandage for the scalding, and Virgil frowned when he saw it. “I’m sorry about your hand, too.”

                Logan shook his head. “It’s nothing, Virgil. The students in my advance courses have done… much worse.”

                Virgil’s curiosity wriggled in his brain, holding onto that statement for a later day. Logan pulled him from contemplation, setting the potion in the test tube rack with an air of finality. He pushed the wooden rack toward Virgil and cocked his head to the side.

                “Should we give it another try, Virgil?”

                Shrugging loosely, Virgil tried to seem indifferent as he held his hands over the tonic. Logan went through the motions of listing instructions. He rounded the room several times, pacing until it began to put Virgil on edge. When he finally stopped, he was next to Virgil, his words low and calculated as he spoke.

                “Feel the expansion of your lungs as you inhale, Virgil. The contraction as he exhale. The cycle and flow of magic through your body is like oxygen through your bloodstream.” Logan paused, waiting for Virgil to take a breath. “Can you feel that, Virgil?”

                Virgil nodded. “Yeah.”

His chest felt tight with anxiety, but there was something else there, too. That light, sparkling feeling he had when he was with Patton. Excitement? Contentment? Was that what it felt like? There was worry that he’d disappoint Logan, but… Logan already thought he was extraordinary, even in the face of all his mistakes. Somehow, that thought made him feel a little better.

                He focused. He knew what he wanted to happen. He wanted the potion to be a barrier. He wanted to feel confident in himself. He wanted to make Logan proud. He wanted Patton to be happy. He wanted… he wanted to see himself the way Patton and Logan saw him. He wanted to know why they thought he was so wonderful. He wanted…

                “Virgil,” Logan said gently. Virgil’s eyes opened, watching as the yellow potion glowed subtly in the small, glass container. He took his hands away, holding them to his chest as he took a step back. Would it explode again? Did he make a mistake? He glanced at Logan for an answer, and he only earned a wide smile in return. “That’s it, Virgil. That’s what’s supposed to happen.”

                While Virgil squinted at the slightly glowing potion, Logan took the test tube and poured the results into the cauldron. There were no sparks. No explosions. Virgil bit his lip nonetheless, feeling the crawl of sprinkling worry along the back of his neck. It could still go wrong. Things could always get worse. He pushed his hands into his pockets as Logan retrieved another bottle of liquid and poured it into the cauldron. Virgil leaned forward to watch.

                “What’s that?” He mumbled aloud.

                “A highly flammable liquid,” Logan said simply. With that, he pulled a wand from his shirt sleeve. Virgil frowned. How did they do that? The wands were too long to fit in Patton and Logan’s pockets or sleeves. It was probably just another magic trick he’d have to learn. Before Virgil could stop him, Logan muttered, “ _Inflamarea_ ,” and the end of his wand spit flames into the cauldron.

                Skittering back from the table, Virgil braced himself against the wall as the cauldron erupted with fire. He waited for Logan’s shout of alarm. He waited for Logan to stumble back, shirt on fire and face contorted in horror. He waited for _anything_. But it never came.

                Logan stood with his hands on his hips, watching as the flames… Virgil’s eyes went wide. The fire hardly reached over the edge of the cauldron. The tonic really _was_ a barrier. It was like the fire hit a perfect, invisible wall. If the potion had been faulty, Logan would have been covered in fire. He didn’t worry, though. He’d set the fire without hesitation. Virgil’s heart swelled.

                Logan had full faith in him. Complete faith. Virgil blinked, feeling the slow, aching feel of happiness ripple through his chest. Logan turned on his heel, smiling at Virgil with an expression bursting with pride. Virgil only partially noticed it. It turned wobbly and watery… what was happening?

                Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Logan’s voice was very confused as he asked, “What’s wrong, Virgil? You did everything just right. Why are you upset?”

                “I didn’t think I’d… actually do it!” Virgil laughed, finally noticing the tears that ran down his cheeks in warm, wobbly streaks. He wipes them away, laughing harder at the sight of Logan’s perplexed expression.

                Laughing and crying… two polar opposite actions working in tandem to confuse him. Virgil didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this. Relieved and breathless. He had done what Logan expected. He’d succeeded at something. He had _done_ something. Virgil laughed, his hands shaking as they pushed away the tears, fighting to retain some semblance of balance in his body as he hiccupped and laughed.

                A few minutes passed before Virgil could finally calm himself down. He stood with Logan, half-hugged and half held hat a distance. It was almost like Logan was afraid to touch him. Afraid that Virgil might break if he pushed too hard. It made that light, happy feeling in Virgil shiver and glow. It was interesting… being loved. He’d have to get used to it.

                After the outburst, Logan was less than enthusiastic to continue their potion-making endeavors. Instead, they memorized ingredients and how to handle them. Logan allowed him to take starthistle out of the jar, but put it away when the seeds began to scatter on the floor. Ptolemy was kept out of reach, and Virgil was only allowed to glance at the blood-like substance before Logan moved onto better things.

                They stayed like this for hours, and Virgil allowed his curiosity to roam free. It was nice, in its own way. It was better than any school day he could imagine enduring, and better than any lesson Dahlia had tried to teach him. Logan took his time, explaining each item and its purpose at length. When he used convoluted words, Virgil would frown, and Logan would reword the statement. It was an elegant – if not silly – system.

                “Dinner time, boys!” Patton’s voice called from the first floor, almost sing-song in its tone. “Come and eat before it gets cold!”

                Dinner was served with words of praise from Logan, repeating the small steps taken to finish a relatively simple potion with such awe, Virgil was sure that he was overexaggerating on purpose.

                “It was astounding, Patton,” Logan said with a flourish of his hand. The salt and pepper shakers slid to the far side of the table, and Patton took the pepper, listening with an intense smile as Logan went on, “The potion was nearly perfect. Perfect. You know how rarely I allow myself to use that word.”

                Patton nodded and handed Virgil the salad bowl. “I do.”

                Virgil served himself a few leaves of lettuce and Logan leaned toward Patton and fervently said, “It had the greatest golden-honey glow. It was like looking into a penseive and seeing myself back in college,” he sat back and adjusted his glasses while giving Virgil a satisfied smile. “It’s very rare for a first year student to grasp the concept so readily.”

                “Virgil isn’t your average student,” Patton piped up happily. He gave Virgil a friendly nudge. “He’s _special_.”

                Trying to laugh, Virgil huffed in his seat. It was nice to hear them going on and on about him, but… it was so much _pressure_. The bar was already set so high. He’d only done one thing. What happened if he couldn’t keep it up? What happened if, or _when_ , Patton and Logan realized they’d made a terrible mistake? Virgil twirled his fork between his thumb and forefinger, hardly touching the pork chops that Patton had made.

                It didn’t take long for Patton to reach out and take Virgil’s hand. Fear sparked in Virgil’s chest. Had he upset Patton? Did he think that Virgil was doubting him? When his eyes met Patton’s, all he saw was an open, patient smile.

                “Easy, kiddo.” His voice was calm. Soothing. Like the dip of the tall grasses in the breeze. Gentle and kind. Virgil nodded slowly, and Patton gave his hand a pat. “Let’s take it one step at a time. One foot in front of the other.”

                Nodding again, a little shakily this time, Virgil lowered his eyes to his plate. He needed to stop jumping to conclusions. Why did he do that? It was a bad habit, probably. Habits could always be broken. Maybe… just maybe, Logan and Patton would help him break it.

                While Virgil delved into these thoughts, Logan and Patton fell into an easy conversation. There was something about papers and what to do with a charms class, but all of it went over Virgil’s head. He only half-paid attention as he ate. He was halfway finished eating his seasoned potatoes when Patton leaned his chin into his hand and sighed.

                “Then we should get Virgil his wand sooner rather than later.”

                Virgil sat up a bit straighter. A wand? _His_ wand? They would go get it. From where? When would they go? He was practically vibrating in his seat when Logan hummed affirmatively.

                Logan nodded and took a sip of water. “That would be the logical choice, I think. It would be more of a hinderance than a help to go without it.”

                 “It would be a little last minute to go in tomorrow, don’t you think?” Patton pursed his lips and gave Logan a considering look. “You don’t like spur of the moment things… you’d have more fun if we had a plan, right? I don’t want to stress you out.”

                “Traffic in the market will be low on a Tuesday morning, Patton.” He quirked an eyebrow when Patton ducked his chin a bit. “Think of yourself.”

                After a moment, Patton reluctantly nodded, a forced smile on his face. “Right. Tomorrow it is, then.”

                “I’m getting a wand tomorrow?” Virgil asked, nearly falling out of his seat when he leaned forward across the table. Patton’s fake smile was replaced when a genuine one at the sight, and he laughed a bit. Logan merely took another drink of water. Virgil tapped the tabletop restlessly, the silverware _clinking_ together as the table shook. “How do I get my wand? Where are we going?”

                “To a Wizarding Market,” Logan said simply. He placed a hand over his silverware to stop the rattling, and Virgil sheepishly slid his hands back into his lap. He bounced his leg anxiously instead. That didn’t make anything shake except himself. Logan nodded in approval. “It’s in the city, but now that you know who and what we are,” he cast a glance at Patton. “We won’t have to use the car.”

                Patton raised his hands in surrender. “Fine with me! Gas is expensive these days, anyway.” He smiled at Virgil, clapping his hands together a bit. “Are you excited Virgil? Your first wand!”

                Virgil started to nod, then paused. “Kinda? I’m… I’m a little nervous.”

                “That’s reasonable,” Logan said bluntly. “But don’t worry. Patton and I will be with you.”

                A comforting thought… right? Virgil wanted to believe that it was supposed to be a soothing statement. Nonetheless, Virgil still felt something keeping him awake. Later that night, when Logan and Patton had said their goodnight’s and sent him off to bed, Virgil laid in bed with that light, sparkling feeling in his chest. Like his chest was full of carbonated drinks, the sensation bubbled and effervesced, making his feel oddly happy. But also like carbonated drinks, it kept him awake.

                He liked feeling happy. Gratified. Wanted and cared for. He could get used to it -- even though his constant anxiety said otherwise. He was a part of something now. He meant something. And in the morning, he would go with Patton and Logan to get a wand. He would really be a wizard then… wouldn’t he? Virgil fidgeted and scratched at the blankets as he chewed on this thought over and over.

                For a few, long hours, he simply stared at the ceiling, wondering what he could accomplish with his newfound enlightenment. He could make more potions with Logan. He could learn spells from Patton. He could grow into his magic abilities like brand new clothes that were just a touch too big. Virgil's mind raced at the possibilities, and idly, he wondered if Patton could hear those thoughts down the hall. Hopefully not. If he had, he would've come in to tell Virgil to go to sleep by then, wouldn't he?

                Some time past midnight, Virgil sat up to look out the window. The waxing moon was shining silver on the ocean of tall grasses, and a breeze would make the light shiver every so often. It was beautiful. He wanted to go out. Soak in that strange, special beauty that could only be found in the light of the moon. He sat back on his bed, kneading at the blankets idly. Patton would probably be upset if he went out alone at this hour. Logan might agree to go with him to study stars... but both men were already asleep. Virgil sighed.

                Even though he couldn't go outside, he needed to do  _something_. He blinked in realization; Dahlia always gave him a glass of milk whenever he stayed up late, and he'd fallen asleep soon after. Steeling his nerves, Virgil swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He could do it. He just had to make it downstairs, get a glass of milk, and get back to his room without disturbing anyone. That couldn't be too hard... could it?

                So, with slow, careful movements, he tiptoed to his bedroom door and slipped into the hallway. From the top of the stairs, he glanced back at Logan and Patton's bedroom, flinching when he saw something in the dark room shift. The 'something' was a body under the covers, and Virgil distinctly heard the sound of a long, tired sigh before the figure settled into the mattress once more, still and silent.

                Virgil let out a breath, and crept down the stairs. He made it all the way to the base of the stairs before he heard the distinct click of a lamp turning on. There, in the living room, sat Logan. With a book in his lap and an unimpressed expression on his face, he drummed his fingers against the cover.

                On the bottom step, Virgil fidgeted; was he in trouble? He wasn't trying to sneak out. Logan didn't think he was a delinquent, did he?

                "Virgil," Logan said lowly, his fingers still rapping at the hard cover of his book. Virgil tugged at the hem of his nightshirt anxiously.

                "Logan," he mumbled back.

                Logan adjusted his glasses and raised his chin a bit. "It's late."

                Staring anywhere but Logan, Virgil nodded unenthusiastically. "Yeah."

                Logan looked slightly irritated by that response. "Is there a reason you're out of bed, young man?"

                Virgil shrugged. "Can't sleep."

                Logan’s fingers stopped drumming, and for a moment, he almost looked pensive. The moment passed as quickly as it came, and Logan set his book on the coffee table before waving Virgil toward the kitchen. Virgil followed. Logan filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. After that, Virgil watched Logan gather ingredients. Milk, cinnamon, nutmeg, honey... what was he doing?

                Once the kettle whistled, Logan poured milk into two glasses with a bit of the hot water. He added in two liberal spoonfuls of honey. Virgil watched it all closely, trying to find the trick. Was it a sleep spell? A potion? Logan gave no hints. He didn't even speak when he pinched a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg into the cups. He simply stirred the both, picked them up, and took them to the dining room. Again, Virgil followed.

                They sat. Logan pushed a mug toward Virgil, and after a brief moment of hesitation, Virgil took it into his hands.

                The cup was warm from the boiling water, but it didn't steam. Virgil gave it a testing sniff. It smelled good, but smells could be deceiving. He watched Logan take a long, slow sip. He looked... content. Relaxed, even. Virgil pursed his lips.

                "Is this a potion?" He asked quietly. Logan gave him a tired, considering look, and Virgil held up the cup. "For like... sleep. Is it a potion?"

                After a second, Logan smiled. It was one of those smiles people gave when they were truly tired and didn't care about appearances anymore. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and Virgil swore he could see something amusing glittering in those blue eyes.

                "No, it's not a potion." He took another swig of the brew, smiling and humming happily when he swallowed. "It's a remedy that Patton concocted; when I have trouble sleeping, it helps."

                "Yeah?" Virgil asked, giving the drink a test sip. When the creation hit his tongue, he couldn't stop. It was sweet. And warm. It smelled like chai and tasted like a milkshake. He took three long, draining gulps before he knew it, and when he lowered the mug to breathe, Logan was smiling at him. Virgil smiled back and licked his lips. "It's good."

                "It is," Logan agreed, taking a calm drink. "I'll have to tell Patton you think so. I'm sure he'll be ecstatic."

                Virgil swung his legs under his chair contentedly, finishing off the last of his 'insomnia remedy' while Logan traced the lip of his own cup. It felt like they stayed there for a while in their companionable silence. When Virgil showed no signs of tiring -- perhaps it had been a faulty batch? -- Logan whipped up another round. They sat and they drank, only occasionally commenting on the late hour. Midnight, half-passed, the drinks were getting cold... 1 a.m. swung around, and a third serving of the soothing drink was knocked out.

                Slouched in his spot at the table, Virgil let out a long yawn. Logan soon echoed the sound. They collected their dishes and placed them in the sink. They didn't have to say anything. Logan simply put a hand on Virgil's shoulder and walked him to the stairs. The lights flicked off behind them. Making sure Virgil made it safely, Logan helped him back to his room, pulling back the comforter and waiting until Virgil was comfortable under the covers.

                Then, he walked back to the bedroom door, only partially illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through the windows. Virgil liked that sight; Logan light by a slight, silver shine. It made him look like a ghost. Virgil smiled; a good ghost.

                "Goodnight, Virgil," Logan said, his voice low and tired. "Pleasant dreams."

                Virgil smiled, relaxing into the pillows as that light, bubbly feeling reappeared. It didn't keep him awake this time. In fact, it was soothing him to sleep. Virgil closed his eyes and yawned, "Goodnight," just in time to hear his bedroom door click shut.

 +++++

                “Are you excited, Virgil?” Patton asked eagerly, his hands wringing in the air as they stood in the living room. He wore a long, gray coat that almost looked like a cloak. Maybe it was like a robe? Virgil was distracted by the _swish_ it made as it brushed the floor when Patton turned in a circle to face him. Patton’s smile was contagious as always, and Virgil felt his lips turn up at the corners as Patton clapped his hands. “Your first time at a real wizarding market! This is so exciting!”

                Logan stepped into the room, adjusting his tie. He also wore a long, billowing coat. Virgil narrowed his eyes; was that a wizard thing? Probably. Logan’s was black instead of gray. It made him look even more intimidating than usual. He straightened his glasses as put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

                “Don’t worry,” he said smoothly. “You’ll be going with me. I’ll make sure not to lose you.”

                Virgil’s eyes went wide. “Lose me?”

                Patton’s smile drooped as he gave Logan’s shoulder a playful smack. “You’re scaring him.” He smiled down at Virgil. “It’s normally pretty crowded, but we’ll stick together.”

                With that, Patton knelt down and picked up a small, wooden bucket filled with dirt. At least, it looked like dirt. Virgil squinted at the substance when Patton took a handful of the stuff into his hand. It slipped through his fingers like wet sand, sprinkling back down into the pot when Patton shook the excess off of his fingers. Logan’s hands were still sitting heavily on Virgil’s shoulders when Patton set aside the bucket.

                “Watch carefully,” Patton said with a smile as he moved to stand at the edge of the cold fireplace. He lifted the hand of dirt, took a breath, and announced, “Piasa Pass!” before he threw the dust on the floor.

                Virgil gasped as smoke erupted from where Patton had once stood, and after Logan helped wave the dust away, Virgil’s eyes went wide. Patton was gone. The only remnant left behind were the imprints of Patton’s shoes in the dust. Other than that, he was just… gone. Logan didn’t seem bothered by this. In fact, he simply stepped forward to pick up the small bucket of dirt.

                “This is floo powder, Virgil,” he said it lowly, and Virgil swore he could hear a hint of irritation in his voice. “It’s a bit unstable, but it will do. Patton had insisted that we travel like this instead of using apparition.”

                Virgil watched as Logan took a measured amount of the powder into his hand, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. “What’s apparition?”

                Logan set the bucket of powder aside, waving for Virgil to join him. “Apparition is the act of using magic to travel to another place instantly.”

                Virgil shuffled his feet when Logan pulled him closer. His back was pressed to Logan’s chest, and the hand that held the powder was right next to his face. He glanced up at Logan. “So it’s like teleporting?”

                Logan hesitated. “Possibly? You can ask me after we arrive in Piasa Pass. I need to concentrate.” Virgil nodded, and Logan cleared his throat. One hand was firm on Virgil’s shoulder, and for a brief second, Virgil wondered what would happen if the powder didn’t work. What if it only took Logan? Would Virgil be left on his own? How would they come back for him? His anxiety churned unhappily in his stomach as Logan took a breath, said, “Piasa Pass,” and threw the powder onto the floor.

                Smoke billowed up from the floor in the blink of an eye, and before Virgil could stop himself, he flinched and fell back against Logan. He coughed and sputtered, waving away the cloud of smoke and dust in a desperate attempt to breathe again. The smoke cleared, and Virgil was left with his mouth hanging open at the sight of an entirely foreign landscape.

                They were in the city, standing at the edge of an alley as people bustled past them. Many of them wore long, billowing cloaks similar to Patton and Logan, but with different colors and styles. A few people wore cliché, pointy witch hats. Even the shops along the streets were different. There were Ilvermorny school uniforms that came with long robes and inscribed cauldrons. Another shop sold charmed objects and offered hex-removal. Virgil blinked. This was definitely _not_ the city where he grew up. Logan was still there with a hand on his shoulder, calm and steady as Virgil’s frayed nerves threw his mind into a vague state of panic. Where were they?

                Patton stepped around the corner with a relieved smile. “There you are! I was beginning to wonder if you got stuck.” Instinctually, Virgil grabbed the long, billowing sleeve of Patton’s cloak and held tight. Just in case. He could get swept away in the crowd at any moment. Patton smiled at the gesture. “You doing okay, kiddo? I know it’s a little overwhelming, but trust me… Piasa Pass is the _best_ place to go for all your wizarding needs!”

                Logan hummed and adjusted his glasses. “Speaking of, we should gather Virgil’s required textbooks for the coming year.” Virgil glanced back at him, and Logan glanced down the street. “It will be better to be overprepared than underprepared.”

                Virgil’s mind raced. Books, wands… were they going to get a school uniform, too? How much money would they spend? He would have to find something cheap. Maybe a used uniform would be better. They shouldn’t spend their money. They shouldn’t –

                “Now, don’t you start thinking like that, Virgil,” Patton tutted as he threw an arm around Virgil’s shoulder and pulled him to his side. Virgil enjoyed the sideways embrace, and held on as Patton announced, “You’re our son! We’re going to spoil you rotten.”

                “That’s a terrible idea, Patton,” Logan said strictly. Virgil agreed, but he didn’t say it out loud. Logan crossed his arms over his chest as Patton frowned at him. “Virgil needs structure along with substance.”

                Patton paused, watching Logan with careful, evaluating eyes. For a moment, Virgil wondered if there was more Logan was thinking. Was Patton sifting through the thoughts? Was there something Logan wouldn’t say to Virgil’s face? The thought simmered while Patton squeezed Virgil’s shoulder comfortingly.

                “Well, it’s good that you want what’s best for him,” Patton said slowly. He paused, watching Logan’s sharp gaze soften just a bit. “But Virgil deserves to be spoiled.” Patton rubbed Virgil’s shoulder, and Virgil grinned a little when Logan’s grimace cracked and broke into a smile. Patton smiled back. “You know what? You handle the books. We’ll go play with wands.”

                Logan nodded. “That would be satisfactory. Wand shops are too… busy.” He looked to Virgil and gave him a slight inclination of his head. “Good luck, Virgil.” Then, he leaned forward to kiss Patton’s cheek. “You should be done by noon, yes? We’ll meet by the fountain.”

                Once Patton nodded, Logan sauntered away into the crowd, blending in with the countless witches and wizards along the streets. Patton watched him go with a tired smile on his face. Virgil glanced up, catching the expression and quirking an eyebrow when Patton looked down and met his gaze.

                “Wand shops have a lot of energy,” Patton explained as they set off across the street. Virgil knocked shoulders with a few people, and held Patton’s sleeve with an iron grip as they made their way down the sidewalk. Patton smiled down at him and went on, “Each wand has its own personality, and all that magic in one place can be a little overwhelming for someone really attuned to magic.”

                “Like Logan?” Virgil said, more of a statement than a question.

                “Like Logan.” Patton smiled. “He’s sensitive to thigs like that. It’s why he’s so good with nonverbal magic. I was always a little jealous of that, ha!”

                The look on Patton’s face was lighthearted, but the tone of his words said otherwise. There was something off in the edge of his voice. Dissatisfaction… no. Virgil knew that tone well. It was sadness. Virgil frowned and walked a little faster, keeping as close to Patton’s side as he could. Patton’s only response was a slight smile in his direction.

                With one fluid motion, Patton wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and drew him into his side. The gray robe was warm. Almost uncomfortably so, in the summer heat… but Virgil didn’t mind. He walked with Patton along the crowded street, shielded from the bustle of the people by Patton’s arm. This way, Virgil was free to glance at the shops they passed.

                An old-fashioned candy maker pulled long ropes of taffy in a gold-tinted window while hungry children pressed their faces to the glass. A little further ahead of them, Virgil heard the shriek and chirp of birds and bats in cages. A woman was trying to haggle for a snake that was draped around the owner’s shoulders, but from the look on the owner’s face, the woman wasn’t going to get her way. Patton watched it all with a passive eye, his smile never wavering as they brushed past a woman and her significant other having a heated fight. Virgil found that interesting.

                Couldn’t Patton hear their thoughts? Was it loud? With so many people thinking so many different things, how was Patton not going crazy? Virgil stumbled a little on a crack in the road, hearing the way Patton chuckled under his breath.

                “I’m focusing on _your_ thoughts, kiddo,” Patton smiled once Virgil looked at him. Virgil was quick to look away, but Patton only laughed again. “You’re one curious kid! Logan loves that about you.” He came to a stop in front of a small shop with a flourish of his hand. “Here we are!”

                Virgil glanced up at the sign _Wolfe Wandmaker & Sons_ was painted in old, tarnished silver lettering above the door. Through the frosted-glass windows, Virgil could vaguely make out a figure sitting behind a desk, along with shelves and shelves of boxes. Patton stepped forward first – Virgil didn’t have the courage – and opened the door for them. A small bell chimed, signaling their entrance, and Virgil shuffled close behind as Patton stepped inside.

                “Welcome!” A man behind the desk said brightly. His eyes were soft and warm, and his smile reflected nothing but kindness. He stood at the front desk, a worn, red coat draped across the back of his chair. He didn’t put it on, opting to push up his long, billowing shirt sleeves and put his hands on his hips. He gave Patton a sly grin. “If it isn’t Mr. Sanders.” He laughed and walked around the desk, greeting Patton with a hearty slap on the shoulder. Patton stumbled a bit, but recovered with a laugh. “You’re not here for _another_ replacement, are you? I thought the last one we fit you with would last longer.”

                Again, Patton laughed. “Oh, we’re not here for me.” He turned and held an arm out to Virgil, waving him forward. Virgil shuffled a little closer, giving the stranger a quick look before glancing at Patton. There was practically a glow of pride in Patton’s smile when he said, “This is my son, Virgil. We’re shopping for him, today.” He placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and gestured to the stranger in front of them. “Virgil, this is Carter Prince. He’s the one who makes all of these wands.”

                Virgil squinted at that. Prince? The sign on the door said Wolfe. Carter seemed to find Virgil’s expression funny, and he laughed boisterously. Frowning slightly, Virgil tucked himself behind Patton a little bit, watching as Charles gave Patton a knowing smile.

                “Don’t worry, sport. You’re not the first one to be confused by the sign. Wolfe was my great-grandfather.” Carter smiled and glanced around at the dusty, rickety shelves. Each one was piled to the top with long, thin boxes. Virgil gave the shelves a slow onceover, biting his lower lip anxiously. Were those the wands? Carter smiled at Virgil’s expression. “This shop has been in the family for generations, and I’m almost sure we’ve got just the wand for you.” He spread his arms in a vague, gesturing manner. “Take a look around!”

                Hesitating, Virgil glanced up at Patton. Was it safe to just wander around the shop? Patton met his gaze with a smile. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

                With a light pat on his shoulder, Virgil was steered toward the shelves while Patton and Carter went to the front desk and began to speak to each other quietly. Virgil frowned. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to get in trouble to breaking anything. He pushed his hands into his pockets and wandered to the right side of the shop, eyeing the boxes warily.

                Carter chuckled lowly. “So how’s the hazel working? It’s a pretty emotional wood.”

                At the desk, Patton waved the statement away. “It’s perfect. It reminds me of the apple wood wand I had before… it’s just a little temperamental.”

                Virgil squinted. People could have more than one wand? Maybe Patton broke one of them. How did that work? Did wands break easily? He reached out and pulled a thin box off of the shelf, slowly running his fingertips across the thick layer of dust that had settled on it.

                “Woah, sport,” Carter spoke up, making Virgil jump. He didn’t seem upset, but there was a stressed line marking his brow. “Let’s steer clear of the acacia wood, all right?”

                When Virgil gave Patton a confused look, Patton leaned against the counter with a smile. “Each wood is different, Virgil. Acacia is… feisty.”

                Carter gave Patton an interesting look before pointing his thumb at a different shelf. “Try the maple. Those are good for kids.”

                Sliding the box back into place, Virgil shuffled away from the shelf, mumbling a low, “Sorry.”

                “Don’t worry about it,” Carter laughed as Virgil eyed the new group of wands. Virgil could hear him lean toward Patton and ask, “He’s pretty shy, huh?” Patton hummed thoughtfully, and Carter chuckled again. “How old is he?”

                “Twelve years old,” said Patton readily. Virgil could hear the smile in his voice. The pride that rang in the tone. Virgil couldn’t help but smile as Patton went on. “This’ll be his first wand.”

                “First, eh? Same as Roman. I'm surprised I haven't seen him before, though... how’d he get through his first year of schooling without a wand?”

                Patton paused, and Virgil wondered if he had to bite back a snarky retort. His voice was nothing but warm when he responded, “He was raised by a No-Maj in the foster care system. He had no idea he was a wizard until Logan and I found him. And I’m so glad we did!”

                “I can see that,” Carter laughed and nodded. “It’s too bad, though… a No-Maj? Raising a wizard? That’s just a recipe for a mess.” Patton didn’t respond to that. Carter must’ve felt the tension in the air, because he was swift to change the topic. “Twelve, you said? Roman’s twelfth birthday is in July.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “He’s so excited for his second year of schooling, I’ve been tempted to take away his wand to make sure he doesn’t cause any trouble.”

                Patton laughed, his mood obviously improved. “Virgil’s been very dedicated to working with Logan. He wants to make up for what he’s missed.” Virgil glanced over at Patton, seeing a loving smile waiting for him. Virgil quickly averted his gaze to the shelves, feigning indifference as Patton sighed, “He’s only been with us for half a week… and I’m already in love with him.”

                Carter clicked his tongue. “You love any kid, Pat. You wear your heart on your sleeve,” he paused, then added, “It’s why I was surprised you took a hazel wand. They’re normally a little finicky.”

                Virgil glanced over to see Patton cuff a hand through his hair. “Well, what can I say?” He laughed, but it wasn’t real. The sound was stuck in his throat. Nervous. Afraid? Virgil couldn’t tell. “I guess I’m just a strange guy.”

                “Speaking of strange,” Carter said smoothly as he pulled out a cloth and started to wipe down the front counter. “How’s Logan?”

                The conversation started to steer into mundane territory, and Virgil stopped paying attention, allowing their voices to drone in the back of his mind as he scanned the boxes in front of him. There were shelves that extended far beyond his head, and each was nearly packed with boxes. One of them caught his eye; it was a dark, violet hue, with corners that were worn from people opening the box time and time again. He reached for it – just above eye level – and brought it down.

                He glanced over at the adults, seeing them heatedly discussing Logan’s plans for the potions course in the fall. Neither of them seemed to notice he’d found a wand. Though, logically, he didn’t need to wait for permission, did he? Carter had said maple was a good type of wand. So, he pulled the lid off the box and set it aside.

                The wand was sleek, polished, and new. A smooth, oval grip shone with a dark varnish, and Virgil ran a finger over the surface of the wand. It wasn’t cold… but it wasn’t warm. It was almost like it was alive and buzzing with energy, excited and eager to be used. Virgil picked up the wand and turned it over in his hand. He liked it, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to be looking for when he picked one. Was it just aesthetic? No, Patton and Carter talked about the wood… acacia was feisty. Who would want a feisty wand?

                He was about to turn to ask Patton when he heard a noise from further in the shop. It came from his right. He frowned at the tugging desire in his stomach to see who – or what – had made the sound. He _should_ stay with Patton. He _should_ just show them the wand he found. He _should_ … but he didn’t. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Patton; he was still talking to Carter, his smile ever-shining as he took off his glasses to wipe the lenses. Virgil bit the inside of his cheek, placed the wand back into the box, and placed it back on the shelf. He turned to his right, hearing yet another bump in the recesses of the store. Throwing caution to the wind, Virgil slowly, quietly, walked toward the noise.

                Shelves lined the walls on both sides, and the further Virgil went, the more cramped the space felt. The light of the oil lamps in the shop seemed to fade in the distance, and Patton’s idle chatter melted down into white-noise as Virgil crept through the dark, endless rows of wands. Just around the corner, the rustling was louder. Rats? No… that didn’t seem likely. Was it something magical? An evil creature that Virgil didn’t know about? Hovering on the line between fear and curiosity, Virgil paused. He didn’t want to get in trouble. He should go back to Patton.

                He turned on his heel, fully intending to go back the way he came, only to be caught and pushed against a shelf. The impact shocked him, and he coughed as dust flew off the boxes and shelves as a few wands tumbled to the floor. He didn’t get much of a chance to wipe the dust from his eyes as someone grasped the front of his hoodie and held something in his face. Virgil blinked spastically. What was this?

                “Identify yourself, evil-doer!” The stranger growled. Virgil blinked. The stranger… was just a kid. At first glance, he was probably the same age as Virgil. With sandy brown hair and eyes like a clear summer sky, he held a wand to Virgil’s nose with the fury of a thousand hells burning in his irises. Virgil could only blink in response. The boy leaned into Virgil’s personal space, repeating his order. “Identify yourself. _Now_.”

                “Virgil,” he managed to sputter. “I’m … I was just –” The boy cut him off with a snort.

                “Sneaking around like some shady, shifty, no-good, double-crossing –”

                From the front, Carter’s voice rang loud and clear. “Roman? Are you with Virgil?”

                The boy – Roman – hesitated before calling back. “Yes?”

                Carter sounded a little tired when he asked, “You’re playing nice, aren’t you?”

                Again, Roman hesitated. He looked at the way he had Virgil pinned to the shelf, then slowly, begrudgingly, released him. Virgil brushed dust off of his jacket as Roman lowered his wand. “I always play nice,” Roman said after a moment. He smiled at Virgil, all perfect teeth and sparkling eyes. “I’m a Prince, after all.”

                Virgil grimaced at that, shrugging his hoodie back into a comfortable place on his shoulders before he muttered, “You’re a werido.”

                Roman didn’t seem to mind that, and he put his fists on his hips and beamed. “You can’t be too careful when you’re a wand-seller. People may come looking for something dangerous!”

                “Dangerous?” Virgil echoed. “Why would there be anything dangerous in here?”

                For a few seconds, Roman simply gave Virgil a strange look. Virgil shrunk in on himself under the scrutiny. After a while, Roman simply said, “You’re not from a wizarding family, are you?”

                Virgil’s eyes snapped up, and he frowned. “Yes, I am. My…” Guardians? Dads? Fathers? How could he describe Logan and Patton? The words didn’t fit quite right. Virgil opted for the easiest answer. “My parents are wizards.”

                Roman rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t mean you’re from a wizarding _family_ ,” he sighed, tucking his wand into the beltloop of his trousers. “Come with me, Dark and Sinister. I’ll take you back.”

                Virgil didn’t need a guide to get to the front desk, but Roman led him anyway, sauntering with all the pomp and circumstance of a parade leader. The light of the lamps slowly brightened, and Virgil found it easier to breathe when Patton was back in his range of sight. Carter watched the duo appear with a half-interested smile on his face.

                “I have brought the Snooping-Sneaker back to you!” Roman announced loudly when they stopped in front of Patton. “I’m also happy to report that no wands are out of place.” Virgil rolled his eyes while Patton laughed.

                “Thank you!” Patton gave Roman a slight inclination of his head. “I’m glad you’ve returned him in one piece.”

                With a dramatic flourish of his hand, Roman bowed. “My pleasure! A Prince lives to serve.” With that, he stood up straight, turned to Carter and said, “I’m gonna go play.”

                “Be back before it’s dark,” Carter called after him as Roman darted out the front door. He gave Patton an apologetic look. “He takes our surname so seriously… I wonder what he’s like in class.”

                “I’m sure he’s a delight,” Patton smiled before turning back to Virgil. “I bet you’ll see him in school this fall.”

                Carter sighed and rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly. “He’s pretty hard to miss.”

                Patton ignored that as he bent down to poke Virgil’s nose playfully. “How’s the search, kiddo? Find any you like?”

                Virgil slowly absorbed the question. The search. The wand. What one did he like… his mind sputtered back to life like an old, stalled computer, and he glanced back at the wand he’d set aside. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I think.”

                Patton’s eyes shone as he clapped his hands. “Let’s see!”

                After retrieving the wand, Virgil held it out to Patton for inspection. He expected Patton to laugh or tell him how proud he was. He didn’t expect Patton’s smile to melt down into a thin, serious line. He looked confused. Carter, however, seemed to approve of the wand.

                “A good choice. Looks like a unicorn core… very stable.” Carter crossed his arms atop the desk and leaned against them with a smile. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

                Patton was quick to flinch away and hold up his hands, “Just… don’t point it at anyone, kiddo.” Patton looked afraid of him. That hurt a little. Virgil tried not to take it to heart as he held the wand against his chest. He glanced around. What would he do with it? Patton adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, regaining Virgil’s attention when he said, “Just give it a little wave. A flick of the wrist should work.”

                Turning face the open space between himself and the door, Virgil held the wand in his left hand and shook it a bit. It felt like being electrocuted. A sharp, zigzagging pain that pin into his skin for a fraction of a second before he knew what was happening. Sparks of flame spit from the wand, and the wand kicked back with enough force that it flew from Virgil’s hand. It sailed through the air, landing somewhere behind the desk with a sad, lonely _clink_.

                Patton was quick to rush forward and grab Virgil’s hands. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” His hands brushed over Virgil’s cheeks, pushing his bangs from his eyes. “Virgil? Sweetheart?”

                Virgil blinked and gave Patton a helpless look. “I didn’t like that one.”

                From the desk, Carter snorted. “No kidding. Maple isn’t the right wood for you.” While Patton pursed his lips and gave Carter a sidelong look, Carter dug through a shelf behind the counter. He stood up straight with a new box, seemingly unperturbed by the event that had just transpired. He slid the new wand toward Virgil. “Maybe something a little more high-strung. Tension is always good.”

                Patton looked hesitant, but stood aside as Virgil shuffled to the desk and opened the new box. This wand was a lighter wood. A pearl was set at the base of the grip. Virgil frowned. Was it more expensive?

                “Don’t you worry about the cost, Virgil,” Patton said softly. Virgil didn’t look at him, but he was sure Patton was smiling. “Let’s just focus on finding the right wand for you.”

                Taking out the new wand, Virgil face the open space and held out the wand. He hesitated. He didn’t want to feel that sharp, jabbing pain again. He didn’t want to ruin anything. He didn’t like the pressure. He wanted to leave. Gritting his teeth, Virgil gripped the wand tightly, and flicked his wrist to the side.

                It was cold this time. Like his hand had been held under frigid, icy water for too long. That biting sensation went all the way up his arm into his cheeks, and his jaw clenched painfully as the small rug by the door flipped into the air and fell in a shapeless puddle of cloth on the floor. For a moment, all three men in the shop simply stared at the rug, waiting for it to slide back into place. It didn’t. Virgil frowned at the wand. The strange, cold feeling in his muscles wasn’t going away. He turned and put the wand back.

                Patton sighed. “Maybe something softer?” He cocked his head to the side and frowned at the wand on the desk. “Pine is very… independent.”

                Carter rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment before his face lit up with an epiphany. “I think I have a good walnut wand in the back. Wait,” he glanced at Virgil, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Maybe… black walnut.” Virgil quirked an eyebrow, and Carter merely nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that would do you good, sport. Wait here.”

                While Carter disappeared down the rows of shelves where Roman was once hiding, Virgil sighed. “What if that doesn’t work?” He turned to Patton and shrugged sadly. “I can’t even make these wands work.”

                Patton raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Virgil, the wands work fine. It’s just a matter of finding the right connection.” He took Virgil’s hands and held them in his own. “Each wand has a personality, just like people. Can you make friends with everyone you meet?” Virgil shook his head, and Patton gave him a sad smile. “You can’t… it would be nice if you could, but… you can’t. Wands are just like that. You need to find the one that works _with_ you and your magic.”

                When Patton released his hands, Virgil tucked them back into his hoodie pockets. “Did you have to go through a lot of wands? To find yours, I mean.”

                Looking off into the distance, Patton leaned against the counter and sighed. “I went through a few… I think I broke something when I tried my first wand.” He laughed at the memory, but Virgil flinched. He really didn’t want to break anything. Patton shook his head fondly. “I remember that wand… looking back at it now, I wonder where I’d be if I were still using it.”

                Virgil shuffled his foot. “What happened to it?”

                “It broke,” Patton answered simply, making a breaking motion with his hands. “It snapped right in half. Funny enough, it’s how I met Logan. It was… well, it was quite a day.” There was rustling from the back of the shop, and Patton leaned forward to whisper, “That’ll be a story for another day, okay?”

                Giving Patton a simple shrug, Virgil turned to see Carter return to them with a velvet wrapped box in his hand. He looked immensely proud of himself as he handed the box to Virgil. “I knew I had this one tucked back there. Dark walnut with a pixie hair core.” He crossed his arms over his chest while Patton ‘oohed’ dramatically. “A good one, if I do say so. Give it a try.”

                After giving Patton a quick, worried glance, Virgil opened the box. The wood lived up to its name; it was a deep, rich brown that nearly melted into the soft, plush velvet in the box. The tiered grip was polished and untouched. From the looks of it, the wand had never been tried before. That made Virgil even more anxious. What if he somehow… ruined the wand? Was that possible?

                Patton’s voice rang loud in the shop as he said, “We won’t know until we try, Virgil.”

                Licking his lips, Virgil set the box on the counter and carefully lifted the wand out of the velvet lining. The reaction was immediate. It was the past evening with Logan in the kitchen, drinking Patton’s sleep remedy, serene and gentle. It was that first time Patton hugged him, all warmth and love. It was when he rode with Patton in the car. When he made his first successful potion. It was everything… and nothing all at once. It flowed over him, and Virgil could only take a sharp, surprised inhale.

                Patton’s hands came to settle on his shoulders, and Virgil jumped at the touch, looking up to see Patton’s smile. “That’s it, kiddo. That’s your wand!” He wrapped his arms around Virgil and pulled him in for a hug, ruffling his hair just enough to make Virgil laugh. “Aw, I’m so proud of you! Your first wand!”

                “Yeah,” Virgil mumbled into Patton’s sleeve, still holding the wand tight. It was a connection. A friendship between his wand… and his magic. Virgil smiled at the feeling and leaned into Patton a bit more. “I’m proud of me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roman comes, and Roman goes. He'll be back, though. Don't worry.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> See you next chapter.


	4. The Force of Fear

                A soft, violet satin ribbon was tied around Virgil’s velvet box by Carter after Patton purchased the wand. He offered a few words of congratulations, but Virgil didn’t hear them. He held the box to his chest, vaguely hearing Patton thank Carter for his time. He had a wand. A real wand. _His_ wand. He was officially a wizard now, right? It made the whole thing feel a little more real.

                When Patton led him out of the shop with a gentle arm around his shoulders, he made sure to lean close and say, “Now, you need to be careful not to lose it, Virgil. Wands are very special.”

                “I won’t,” Virgil nodded, holding the box to his heart. Pride glimmered inside him, small and warm. It was another nice feeling he’d have to get used to. He glanced up at Patton, seeing that ever-present smile. “Thank you.”

                They walked along the streets slowly, Patton’s arm secure around Virgil’s shoulders as they went. Logan would be waiting for them by a fountain… surely Patton knew where they were going. While they walked, Virgil thought back to what Roman said to him; he knew Virgil wasn’t from a wizarding family. Was it that obvious? Did he stick out like a sore thumb?

                Glancing around, Virgil noticed how nearly every person in the market had those long, wizarding robes trailing behind them as they made their way through the market. He looked down at his own lackluster appearance. A hoodie and jeans? He really didn’t fit the wizard stereotype. Virgil frowned down at the velvet lined box in his hands. Roman had him pegged. He _wasn’t_ from a wizarding family. He was just an awkward addition to this magical world… a puzzle piece that didn’t fit quite right.

                Patton’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and Virgil tried to halt his thought processes. It was easy to forget that Patton could hear his unsavory thoughts. While he tried to reign in the self-deprecation, Patton pulled him aside, away from the crowds. He bent down to catch Virgil’s eye.

                “Roman said _what_ to you?”

                Virgil shrugged, trying to brush off the former thoughts. “It’s whatever. He just said… I wasn’t from a wizarding family.” He shrugged again. “It’s no big deal.”

                Patton wasn’t satisfied. “Just because you were raised by a No-Maj, it doesn’t make you any less of a wizard. Your magic doesn’t mean any less.”

                For a second, Virgil almost agreed. Patton seemed so adamant about it… but why? Because he was trying to be a good role model? Virgil pursed his lips. Patton said he understood what it meant to be raised by a No-Maj. Logan didn’t… they were complete opposites. And yet, they worked together. Virgil looked up from the ornate button that served as a clasp for Patton’s cloak, meeting Patton’s soft gaze.

                “You were raised by a No-Maj, right?”

                There was a notable pause, but Patton eventually nodded and smiled. “I was. And it’s hard… trying to understand who and what you are.” He stood up straight and gave Virgil’s shoulder a comforting pat. “But that’s okay. Standing out a little should be fun,” he smiled when Virgil wrinkled his nose in distaste, and ruffled Virgil’s hair fondly. “Getting to know yourself is an adventure, Virgil. No matter who we are and whether or not you’re from a wizarding family… don’t be afraid to be a little different.” He winked. “Life’s no fun when you’re just like everybody else.”

                Though he didn’t agree, Virgil nodded and held his new wand close to his chest as they resumed their trek through the market. Just ahead of them, a small, open plaza was filled with people milling about and idly as they slowly moved through the market. In the middle of it all stood a large fountain with a marble statue of an enormous bird opening its wings in preparation to fly. Water bubbled over the edges of the statue, raining down and glittering in the sunlight as Patton and Virgil walked towards it.

                It the base of the fountain stood Logan, his arms crossed over his chest and expression unimpressed. Virgil would’ve thought he was bored if not for the way his mouth was moving. He was scolding someone. Leaning over a bit, Virgil could see a familiar mop of light brown hair bowed shamefully as Logan reprimanded them. Virgil smirked. Roman was in trouble.

                The closer they got, the easier Virgil could hear what Logan was saying. “—and furthermore, you should be more respectful of your elders, young man.”

                Roman nodded and shuffled his feet. One hand was rubbing at his crisp, white shirt sleeve bashfully. “I’m sorry.”

                Logan adjusted his glasses, glancing up to see Patton and Virgil approaching. He looked back to Roman. “The apology is appreciated. Please, try to watch where you’re going when playing make-believe.”

                Not waiting for a second warning, Roman started to scoot away. “Of course! But you never know… there really _could_ be an invisible dragon in the plaza!” While Logan made a befuddled expression, Roman dashed away, running into no less than three people on his way out of the plaza.

                Virgil watched him go with a half-interested eye. Invisible dragons? Maybe Roman was right… or maybe he was crazy. Virgil would probably figure it out when he went to school. Patton eyed Roman with a thin-lipped smile, stepping close to Logan and taking his hand.

                “What was all that?”

                Logan was still watching Roman slipping through the crowd when he said, “He was running through the market shouting something about dragons attacking.” He smoothed a hand over the front of his cloak as he looked at Patton. “He ran into me in the confusion, and I was quick to reprimand him. Better to scold him than have the entire plaza jumping at shadows.” He glanced at Virgil, quirking and eyebrow when he caught sight of the velvet box clutched in Virgil’s hands. “I see you were successful in finding yourself a wand.”

                Patton nodded eagerly, leaning into Logan’s arm as he excitedly said, “It’s black walnut.”

                Virgil made a face at the emphasis, but Logan seemed impressed. He nodded thoughtfully, giving Virgil an assessing stare. “Very interesting. I’m sure it will be very useful to you.”

                “Is the type of wood really that important?” Virgil mumbled lowly. It didn’t go unnoticed by Patton, and he was answered with a smile.

                “Some wands are rarely used for a reason, kiddo,” he said in a sing-song voice. “You’re lucky to get such a pretty one!” He paused, then turned to Logan with a wry grin. “Speaking of pretty… how are _you,_ handsome?”

                Virgil didn’t miss the way Logan’s cheeks flushed as he raised his eyebrows and gave Patton an amused look. “Satisfactory, darling. I’ve ordered all of Virgil’s required textbooks for the coming year. They’ll be delivered to the house within the next few days.” He looked at Virgil while Patton melted against his arm. “We have quite a bit of work to do, Virgil.”

                “Spells are just the first step, kiddo!” Patton said as he bounced on his heels. He held Logan’s hand and swung it back and forth energetically as Logan rolled his eyes and smiled.  Virgil smiled, too. He wanted to learn. He wanted to understand. He held the wand box tight as Patton said, “I’m so excited to work on Charms with you! We’ll have tons of fun!”

                Logan was trying to be serious, but it seemed like Patton wanted to focus on having fun more than he wanted to prepare Virgil for his classes. Not that it was a bad thing. The idea of having fun was almost enticing. Something about sitting with Patton and just enjoying a good long heart-to-heart chat sounded like it would be a warm and cozy experience. However, Virgil was not a “run against the wind and seek out fun times” kind of child. He was a “sit still and watch as the world comes crashing down around you” realist.

                He wanted to avoid those bad things. He had to do _something_ with his time. He had to distract himself from the inevitable collapse of his happy family. While he still had a chance, he had to make the most of Patton and Logan… at least, until they decided he wasn’t worth it anymore.

                “Patton, dearest, my arm…” Logan grumbled unhappily. Virgil looked up to see Patton staring directly at him, his hands gripping Logan’s bicep with a while-knuckle grip. Virgil quickly looked away, feigning ignorance while Patton released Logan and apologized. Logan brushed it off. “Well… our initial tasks have been completed.” He glanced at Virgil before he his gaze returned to Patton. “Should we return home?”

                Virgil nodded. He was already wrecking things. Patton heard his bad thoughts. It was ruining the day. They should leave. Change the scene and ignore what just happened. Again, when he looked to Patton, he could see the older man’s hands clenched tightly. The only difference was the fact that he wasn’t holding onto Logan’s arm. His hands were clasped together in front of himself with a thin-lipped smile on his face. Virgil looked away again. He was making it _worse_.

                “It would be a waste to just go home!” Patton said suddenly, his voice a little tense. Logan gave his husband a sidelong glance, but didn’t comment on his tone. Patton spread his arms wide, giving a vague gesture to the plaza. “We have a whole wizarding market to play with; it would be a shame to just leave and not have a little fun.” He leaned down to see eye-to-eye with Virgil, bracing his hands on his knees as he smiled. “How ‘bout it, kiddo? Let’s look around.”

                Not waiting for a response, Patton took Virgil and Logan’s hands and tugged them along the circumference of the plaza. Virgil glanced at the cloaks and robes in display windows, seeing parchment and feather quills with shining brass tips in ornamental cases. Would he have to use one? He’d rather just used a pen. He’d make a mess with ink.

                Logan made a note about the bookshop they passed. It was fairly empty, but the people who lingered in the doorway were heatedly debating a manual on magical creatures. Virgil held onto Patton’s hand tightly, not wanting to get swept away in the atmosphere. Patton didn’t mind; he pointed out broomsticks – there’s more than one kind? – and went into a long story about how his first flying lesson ended horrendously.

                “I fell right off the broomstick when I was ten feet in the air. Just slipped right off!” Patton laughed at the memory, but it only served to make Virgil anxious. What if he fell? How high would he have to fly? Heights were not his favorite thing. Patton swung out of the story with gusto, changing the subject as he noticed Virgil’s thoughts. “But there’s plenty of other things to learn, Virgil. We won’t have to worry about flying for a while, now.”

                Logan seemed unimpressed by that statement. “It would be best not to push off important fundamental lessons, Patton. It would be more of a hinderance than a help.”

                Patton elbowed Logan in the side, still smiling that tense, fake smile. “But it’s _also_ good to keep our own personal limits in mind. Right, dear?”

                Logan didn’t respond to that, and Virgil felt an uncomfortable weight settle over their little entourage as they continued through the market. Virgil’s hand started to sweat in Patton’s, but he didn’t pull away. He held on tight. It was better to be awkward than lost.

                They’d been walking for a few minutes when he saw it: a long, black cloak with thick, violet stitching around the collar and cuffs. It was displayed in a silver-lined window, a large “Bargain!” sign hanging from the shoulder. Virgil leaned in front of Patton to see it clearly – it was probably too big for him anyway – and then leaned back when they continued past the window.

                Surprisingly, Logan was the one to pull their parade to a stop outside the store. He glanced up at the cloak, then back at Virgil, and then back to the cloak. Patton smiled and nodded at whatever Logan had been thinking. “It’s _very_ Virgil. A little big, but he can grow into it.”

                Logan sniffed. “Too warm for summer… but it would be good for winter. Especially if we plan to visit our parents.”

                Virgil’s heart leapt up into his throat at the thought; were they going to buy it for him? No, they wouldn’t… would they? He had no idea where he’d even where such an extravagant cloak. It looked like something he’d wear to a costume party… but then again, everyone in the plaza wore something similar. Patton squeezed Virgil’s hand with a smile.

                “They’re traveling robes,” he explained softly. “They’re supposed to be warm for long trips. They always go on sale this time of year.”

                “Traveling robes,” Virgil repeated softly. It was like a winter coat, then? He watched as Logan released Patton’s hand and stepped into the shop. Patton stayed put, admiring the cloak through the windows with Virgil. He didn’t speak, but Virgil knew he had _something_ to say.

                “You’re darn right I have something to say,” Patton said suddenly. Virgil jumped at the seriousness in his voice, looking up at Patton’s stern smile. Patton looked down to him with eyes that shone with emotion. “You keep thinking about how things are eventually going to end, right?”

                Virgil shrugged shyly, turning away to look at the cloak in the window. Inside, he could see Logan speaking to someone… a sales associate, maybe. Virgil didn’t spend too long trying to read their lips. Patton spoke up before he had a chance to excuse his thoughts.

                “Virgil, I understand that your mind works a certain way… glass half-empty, glass half-full, all of those things…” Patton paused, turning face Virgil so he could lean down to Virgil’s height. “I know you don’t trust easily. I could tell that from the first moment I met you.” Virgil looked away, but Patton went on. “But you should believe me when I tell you: we want to love you. We want you to be part of our family. It doesn’t matter you were raised by a No-Maj. It doesn’t matter if you’re a little different. We wanted to bring you with us _because_ you’re different. You’re a special kid, Virgil. We just want you to understand that.”

                “Well said,” Logan agreed. Virgil lifted his gaze from the ground, seeing Logan standing in the doorway of the shop with a bundle of black cloth in his arms. The traveling cloak. Logan adjusted his glasses and smiled at Virgil’s halfhearted glower. “Though I am a realist, I can concede that in your case, past results should not be held as a standard for the future.” His gaze softened a bit. “We will work as hard as we have to if it will convince you that you are wanted in our family.”

                Virgil frowned, looking at the ground once more. The wand box was held tight against his chest, and Patton’s hand still held his left hand. He felt something in his chest… not the happiness and lightness that accompanied magic. Something else. Like anxiety, it felt constricting. Like excitement, it bubbled in his lungs. He looked up, seeing Logan’s thoughtful expression and Patton’s warm smile.

                Virgil smiled back. They were happy. They wanted him. Maybe… just may, he could see the glass as half-full. Theories and worries about the world coming crashing down could wait… just for a while.

+++++

                They stood in the front yard outside Patton and Logan’s house the afternoon following the day Virgil got his first wand. He’d been grilled by Logan about keeping his wand clean and polished, and Patton had recommended tying ribbons to his wand to make it feel a little more personalized. Virgil leaned the wand, but respectfully declined the ribbons. Logan stood before him, his hands on his hips and eyes sharp as they prepared to learn Virgil’s first spell.

                "Now, you aren't taught many spells in your first year of instruction, so our task list is very short. However," Logan pulled his wand out of his polo sleeve – Virgil really wanted to learn that trick – and held it out in front of him. "You will be expected to have mastered these few spells over the summer."

                Virgil nodded and took out his wand. They stood in the yard facing the wide-open fields. Patton stood a liberal fifteen meters away, swaying from side to side as Logan went to work.

                "The expelliarmus spell is a staple amongst Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and a very simple spell to perform." He held his wand up in demonstration, showing the proper execution of movement. "It is a disarming spell, and it should be used to end an altercation quickly and without causing anyone else physical harm."

                "Violence is never the solution!" Patton called from across the yard.

                Logan nodded with a roll of his eyes. "Yes. Theoretically, magic needn't be used to settle any disagreements. That being said," he gave Virgil a quick look. "The spell is in the usual curriculum, so you'll be learning it regardless of our personal viewpoints. Furthermore, there are plenty of pure blood wizarding families that engage in duels for sport." He frowned at that, and Virgil swore he saw Logan grip his wand a bit tighter before he spoke again. "So, realistically, it's best to teach you now and be done with it."

                He showed Virgil the movement of the wand a few more times, clearly dictating every syllable of the spell slowly so Virgil could memorize it. Patton stood at the ready as their test subject, smiling and bouncing on his heels when Logan gestured for Virgil to step forward.

                "Plant your feet firmly on the ground. Just like that, yes. Make sure to speak very clearly." Logan placed his hands on his hips and took a few steps out of the way. "Whenever you're ready."

                Lifting his left hand slowly, Virgil noted the slight tremble of his wand. He was scared... what if he hit Patton? Would it hurt? Would Patton be mad? He glanced over at Logan.

                "What if I miss?"

                Logan quirked an eyebrow. "You shouldn't." His index finger tapped his hip as he watched Virgil struggle with himself. "Are you planning on missing?"

                "No," Virgil said quickly. "I don't wanna hurt Patton, though..."

                "Ah. I see." Logan stepped forward again, coming to stand behind Virgil with a calm, relaxed air about him. "Would it soothe you to know that this spell is meant only for disarmament?"

                Virgil purses his lips. "Kinda?"

                Logan hummed. "To make the spell truly harmful, you'd have to focus on all negative feelings you have toward your target, projecting that irrational anger onto the spell."

                "Oh." Virgil muttered, watching as Patton stretched his arms above his head and yawned. Patton wasn't really in harm’s way. It's probably why this was the first spell they were trying. They wanted to do something harmless. Virgil nodded to himself. He could do harmless. Taking a breath, Virgil gripped his wand tight as he said, "Ex-expellamus!"

                Half of Virgil was thrilled when nothing happened. Patton simply stood in the same place, wand in hand and expression blank. The other half of Virgil was outraged that he'd made a mistake. Sirens were going off in the back of his brain, announcing his failure to the rest of his body. Behind him, Logan cleared his throat.

                "A good first attempt, but the spell is actually pronounced expelliarmus." He gave Virgil a supportive tap on the shoulder before waving him onward. "Try again."

                Patton waved enthusiastically as Virgil raised his wand again. "You can do it, kiddo!"

                Logan sighed. "Patton, hold still. Virgil is already concerned that he might miss and hit you instead of your wand."

                After heaving a dramatic sigh, Patton stilled his waving arms and stood quietly as Virgil gathered his nerves. Logan had said it was harmless... unless he harbored a ton of angry feelings toward Patton. Which he didn't. So it had to be safe. Right? He dug his heal into the ground, feeling tension spark between his hand and wand.

                With a flourish and flick of his wand, Virgil felt something click into place as he said, "Expelliarmus!"

                After an initial jolt, Virgil was surprised to see Patton jump and yelp as his wand flew up into the air. There was a slight hum in the wind as Patton’s wand disappeared from view and landed somewhere in the tall grasses beyond. Virgil blinked. This was wand disarmament? No… he still might have made a mistake. He glanced at Logan, seeing a smile on the teacher’s face.

                “Well done, Virgil.” Logan said officially.

                Across the yard, Patton hopped up and down, gleefully exclaiming, “Your first spell! Oh, Virgil I’m so proud! Look at you go!”

                Smiling a bit to himself, Virgil glanced down at his wand. Nothing had changed. The wood was still the same dark brown. No sparks flew from the end of the wand. He was in control. Pride glowed in his chest, making him smile a little wider. He was learning. He could do it.

                Logan shook his head as Patton started pushing through the tall grass, looking for his wand. “Like I said, you should have just used a random stick. It’ll take you an immeasurably long time to find your wand in the grass like that.”

                Patton’s voice was distant and muffled as he replied. “I’ll find it, don’t worry!”

                “I don’t worry,” Logan mumbled to himself with a fond shake of his head. Plucking a small, thin stick from the ground, Logan faced Virgil. “Let’s try it again.”

                Virgil frowned. “But… I did it. You said I did it.”

                “Yes, I did,” Logan nodded, his eyes narrowed a bit at the edge in Virgil’s voice. “But practice makes perfect. You need to use the spell more than once to really master it.”

                So, while Patton clambered through the grasses in search of his wand, Virgil practiced knocking Logan’s “wand” from his hand. Expelliarmus was supposed to be the simplest spell to learn, but Virgil still found himself sweating by the fourth time he used the spell. His left hand was starting to tingle, like his fingers were going numb. He rolled his wand between his fingers while Logan nodded at his execution of the spell.

                “ _Very_ good, Virgil. I’m impressed with your dedication.” Logan glanced over to the grasses where Patton was still searching for his wand. There was the slight movement of the grasses far too their left, indicating Patton’s location. He sighed and looked back to Virgil. “How are feeling? Tired yet?”

                “No,” Virgil lied as he pushed his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows. It was too hot to wear a hoodie, but it was comforting. “I’m good.”

                Logan nodded thoughtfully, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Your skill is commendable… most children your age find it difficult to repeatedly use spells like this. Perhaps…” he glanced off toward the fields again. “Perhaps we could try something a little more advanced.”

                Virgil’s stomach twisted; would he be able to do it if he was tired? No, Logan was impressed by his skill. That had to mean something. He stood at the ready when Logan pulled out his real wand, holding it in front of himself with a flourish.

                “Protego is a simple shielding spell,” Logan said evenly. “The wand movement is a simply thrust forward with your wand accompanied by the spell. It takes a fair amount of control, but with the skill you’ve demonstrated today, I think you could handle it.”

                Virgil fidgeted. Control? He was just doing as he was told. What control was he talking about? Magical control? Was _that_ what he was supposed to be learning? He slapped a neutral expression onto his face when Logan turned to him.

                “Place your feet shoulder-width apart and brace yourself; there may be a slight kickback from your wand.” He waved Virgil forward, indicating to the tall grasses off to the right, opposite Patton. Virgil lifted his wand slowly, feeling the pinpricks of magic buzzing like an electric current between his hand and the wood. Logan gestured to the fields. “There is no possible way you can damage the fields with this spell. It is a protective spell that is meant to keep you safe.” He glanced down at Virgil and nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

                Digging his heel into the dirt, Virgil braced himself. If it was a shield, it had to be easy, right? Protego. Protego? Virgil tasted the word on his tongue in a whisper, feeling the cut of the consonants and the rolls of the vowels. He held his wand up, then held it in both hands. He had to be ready for the kickback. If it was anything like the way the wand jumped out of Patton’s hand, he didn’t want to lose it. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Virgil readied himself for the spark of magic. The warm rush of energy. The inevitable flare of _something_ that wasn’t quite normal.

                “Protego!” He shouted, lunging forward with the rush of adrenaline in his blood.

                It was like running full-speed into a brick wall.

                Virgil was thrown back by the force of magic, and he felt himself sail through the air like a ragdoll. His brain couldn’t process the movement. What was happening? He heard Logan scream his name. He hit the dirt hard. He scraped along the dirt driveway. He felt the fabric of his hoodie tear. He came to a gasping halt on his back, staring up at the light blue sky in horrified wonder. _What just happened_?

                “Virgil!” Patton screamed, his voice too far away to be real. “Virgil! Are you all right? Virgil, say something!”

                There was the sound of dirt crunching beneath shoes. Movement… running? Virgil couldn’t move. He felt stunned. Everything was numb. Was he even holding his wand anymore? Feeling the world come back to him with a force, Virgil choked on air as he struggled to catch his breath. The impact knocked the air out of him and his heart was racing in an attempt to compensate the loss of lungs. He coughed, blinking against the dust that had gathered in the wake of his descent. He could see Patton rushing out of the grasses, running toward him. Where was Logan?

                “Virgil, sweetheart, honey,” Patton fell to his knees next to him, helping him sit up. His careful hands shook as he combed through Virgil’s hair, searching for any signs of blood or damage. “Are you okay? You… you just went flying. What happened? Did you hurt yourself?

                Virgil’s mind repeated like a scratched record, jumping back again and again, sticking to the phrase “protego” as Patton’s hands fluttered over him. Patton’s movements stuttered for a second, glancing down at Virgil’s dust-coated hoodie. His expression was a mesh of emotions, the greatest of which was fear. Virgil didn’t like that. Virgil coughed until he could breathe again, seeing Logan running from the far side of the yard. How far had he been thrown by the spell?

                When Logan came jogging up to them, his eyes were wide with panic. “Virgil, are you –”

                “What spell were you trying to teach him?” Patton’s voice sounded like red-hot metal, ready to burn through Logan’s skin. Virgil had never heard him like that before.

                Logan blinked, his hands clenching and relaxing a few times. “I was just –”

                “ _What_ … _spell_?” Patton hissed through clenched teeth. Virgil swallowed thickly when Logan paled a bit. But he didn’t back down. He adjusted his glasses and raised his chin.

                “Protego,” he said curtly, as if it wasn’t a problem.

                “That is a fifth-year spell, Logan!” Patton screeched. Virgil flinched away, feeling something trickle down his arm. He and Patton both looked down to see the elbow of his hoodie torn open and a series of scratches along his arm where he scraped along the gravel. Patton gasped. “Logan, he’s _hurt!_ He's _bleeding_!” Logan squirmed at the statement, stepping forward to assist them, only to be waved away by Patton. “No, no, no! You’ve done enough.” He looked back to Virgil with watery eyes. “Let’s get you cleaned up, champ.” Virgil gave a wavering nod, and Patton smiled. “Look at you. You’re so brave.”

                Shakily rising to his feet, Virgil held his left arm to his chest gingerly. Even the palms of his hands were raw from trying to subconsciously stop himself from falling. He bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s… it’s not Logan’s fault. I did it.” He glanced up at Patton. “I cast the spell.”

                Patton refused to look at Logan as he looped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and began to tow him toward the house. “No, it _is_ Logan’s fault. That spell shouldn’t be tried by first-years. Or even second-years. It’s too advanced. It takes too much energy and control.” His hand tightened around Virgil’s shoulders as he grumbled, “You weren’t ready for it.”

                They climbed up the porch steps slowly. Virgil’s legs still shook a bit. He mumbled, “Logan said I was ready.”

                “Logan says a lot of things,” Patton shot back, ushering Virgil inside. “Just because he’s smart, it doesn’t mean he’s always right.”

                When Patton had Virgil sat on the edge of the tub with a wet washcloth held to his bleeding elbow, Patton finally let out a sigh. After that, he worked quietly. Virgil made sure to think of the _good_ things he’d done. How happy he felt when Logan complimented him. The way Patton said he was proud. The warm feeling in his chest when he succeeded. He tried to force those good feelings toward Patton, but the older man never responded.

                He worked carefully, gently washing the dirt from Virgil’s skin and dabbing the scrapes dry. Antiseptic was used; a very un-magical cure. Then Patton broke open a package of gauze, carefully taping it to Virgil’s arm in complete silence.

                “You’re really mad at Logan,” Virgil finally whispered. Patton smiled.

                “Yes, I am.”

                “Are you guys gonna have a fight?” He asked, feeling the world crashing down around him when Patton’s smile drooped. Virgil’s wound was covered. The packaging for the bandages was thrown away. Virgil waited for a response. Patton didn’t give one. Instead, he changed the subject.

                “Spells like that take a lot of energy,” Patton said softly as he stood up and smiled at Virgil stiffly. “You must be tired.” Virgil didn’t have the heart to disagree. He merely stood up and shuffled into the hallway with Patton. A hand settled on his shoulder. Warm and kind… but also tense. Virgil could feel it in the air. Logan had yet to come inside. Patton sighed and walked Virgil to the stairs. “All that energy wasted on a spell like that… you go take a nap and rest your exhausted little head.”

                Again, Virgil made no move to disagree. He simply shuffled up the steps to his room, holding his arm carefully as he slipped into his bedroom and shut the door. Once he managed to shrug off his ruined hoodie, he tossed it onto the floor, went to his bed, and fell face-first onto the blankets. He waited.

                He waited for the inevitable shouting. He waited for Logan and Patton to come back to him and say it wasn’t working out. That he was causing too much of a rift between them. He waited for it, flinching when the front door opened and shut. He waited as he heard Patton and Logan speaking in quick, escalating tones. He waited with shuddering breaths and a pounding heart… he ruined it. He ruined everything.

                For a while, things were reasonably quiet. Virgil couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, but it was just loud enough for him to hear the way Logan’s voice was sharp with irritation. Patton sounded… well, Virgil almost thought he sounded furious. But he had no idea what that sounded like. Patton didn’t seem like the type of person to have a heated argument.

                Virgil was corrected in a matter of minutes.

                After one barbed, inaudible comment from Logan, Virgil could hear Patton downstairs shouting: “He could’ve seriously hurt himself! Even forth-year students have broken their arms from the wrong use of that spell!”

                Logan’s voice was sharp as he snapped back, “Virgil was showing great promise! Who am I to deny him a chance to further his skills?”

                Patton growled in frustration, and Virgil curled into his blankets. “Oh, Logan. This is not about _you_. This is about Virgil! Our _son!_ He’s supposed to be able to trust us, and now you –”

                “How am I responsible for him not trusting us?” Logan interjected.

                Patton huffed and shouted, “I wasn’t finished!” Virgil could hear the way Patton’s voice shook with anger when he continued. “He’s supposed to be able to trust us, and then you go and do _this_? Logan, he went flying across the yard!”

                “That’s exaggerating –”

                “I watched him fly twenty feet through the air!” Patton exclaimed. “Did you see the look on his face? He was horrified because of what you made him do!”

                “I didn’t make him use the spell incorrectly.” There was the sound of stomping as Logan’s voice became distant. Was he in the living room now? “Don’t you dare accuse me of _breaking_ Virgil. I told him exactly what to do. It’s not my fault that he used the spell incorrectly!”

                Patton’s voice was hoarse as he shouted, “It _is_ your fault, Logan! You were the one teaching him!”

                “He deserves to be able to expand his knowledge, Patton,” Logan was done debating. His voice was clearer now. Virgil bit his lip and flinched when Logan spat, “Now you’re upset that I was teaching him something new? What kind of hypocrisy –”

                “Stop it, Logan.” Patton ordered. Logan tried to start up again, but there was an audible _crack_ as something hit the wall. “Just stop it! We don’t have to do things the way _your parents_ did! This is _our_ life! _Our_ child! We need to work _together!_ ”

                Logan groaned. “Well, if you weren’t being so obtuse, maybe you’d see the reason I did what I did!”

                Patton’s voice was strangely wobbly when he yelled, “Are you calling me _stupid_?”

                “Don’t _shout_ , Patton –”

                Patton stomped his foot before screaming, “ _I’ll shout if I want to!”_

                There were several long seconds of silence. Virgil held his breath. Logan didn’t reply. The only sound Virgil could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, a constant stream of sound that started to drown out the terrified thud of his heartbeat. Was Logan thinking something instead of saying it? Was Patton just sifting through his thoughts? Were they even still downstairs?

                After a long, pregnant silence, Patton’s voice was unnervingly calm as he said, “Just because I don’t agree with you… doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”

                Logan’s voice was uneven as he tried to deny the accusation. “Patton, I never said –”

                “No.” Patton’s voice echoed eerily in the house. “You didn’t say it. Not out loud, at least.”

                Virgil let out shaking breath as the front door opened. Logan called for Patton to stop, wait, and… the front door slammed shut. Patton had left. Gripping the blankets tight enough to make his scratched and raw hands tingle, Virgil stared at his bedroom door with wide eyes.

                He may not have set any fires… but he’d somehow managed to burn down a marriage. That had to be some kind of new record. After all, he’d only been with Patton and Logan for a week. Virgil blinked as hot, wet tears dripped over his cheeks and onto his pillowcase. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. He should’ve tried harder. He should have listened more. If he had, maybe he would have used the spell correctly. Patton and Logan wouldn’t have fought.

                There could have been any number of reasons he slipped out of bed. There could have been a thousand good explanations for why he stumbled down the stairs. Those reasons existed… but Virgil didn’t have any in mind as he came to a stop in front of Logan.

                Logan was leaned against the wall in the hallway like it was the only thing holding him up. There was a defeated look on the older man’s face. He looked embarrassed, ashamed, and frustrated at the same time. It was all rolled into one fitful, unhappy emotion. Virgil looked up at him with wet eyes, meeting Logan’s own tired gaze. Neither of them spoke for a moment. They simply looked at each other. Virgil moved to tug on his hoodie sleeves, but he had nothing to tug. The torn hoodie was on his floor. Logan noticed the movement, and sighed heavily.

                “I’m sorry, Virgil,” he said quietly. He wasn’t talking about the hoodie. He wasn’t talking about the spell, either. Virgil sniff and rubbed at his tear-streaked cheeks.

                “It’s my fault,” Virgil muttered. “You said it was my fault because I…”

                Logan placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “No. No, it’s… it’s not your fault. I twisted the argument in my favor because I wanted to be right.” His stare went over Virgil’s head, watching the front door wistfully. “I was not. I put you in danger and… and I’m sorry.” He blinked and looked back to Virgil, his glasses glaring in the light that streamed through the glass panes of the door. “I’m so sorry, Virgil.” Resting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, Logan sighed heavily. “I need to fix this.”

                With that, he stepped away from the wall and walked out the front door. Virgil watched him go; he almost wanted to follow, but something in the tense line of Logan’s shoulders told him to stay. Instead, Virgil scrambled for the living room, pressing his face to the window and watching as Logan walked across the lawn toward Patton who was standing with his arms cross and back turned to the house. Logan didn’t touch him. Virgil couldn’t see what they said… but they spoke for a moment. Calmly. Carefully.

                After a few minutes, Patton turned to face Logan. He was too far for Virgil to see what face he was making. Was he sad? Hurt? Angry? Virgil leaned against the windowpane heavily as Logan and Patton spoke. Logan spoke with his hands, making clear, concise movements as he stated his case. Patton visibly sighed. Virgil bit his tongue, wondering what Logan had said. Were they talking about sending him away? Were they agreeing that Virgil was too much to handle? Virgil blinked, watching as Patton and Logan embraced. It was torrid and desperate, as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

                Virgil leaned away from the window, watching carefully as Patton pulled something out of his pocket – keys? – and gestured to the car before leading Logan away. Were they going for a drive? Virgil’s chest ached; what if they were leaving him there? What if they were running away? He shook his head as he slipped back up into his room, throwing himself onto the mattress with a huff.

                They wanted him. They wanted to love him. Patton said so. Virgil frowned, crawling across his room to retrieve his CD player. He frowned when it didn’t turn on. Dead batteries. He left the headphones on anyway. They grounded him. But… even with the comforting presence of the headphones, he felt cutoff. Alone. He didn’t know where Patton and Logan were going. All he could do was lay in bed, eyes closed and mind wander as he hoped and prayed that they would come back.

+++++

                Virgil was curled up on his bed when he heard the front door open and shut. His headphones were still on his head, but they were sitting sideways against his face. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He sat up sleepily, tugging the headphones off and dropping them onto the blankets. Logan and Patton were back.

                When they’d left, the sun was still hanging high in the sky. They’d seemed to work things out in the yard, but… they’d still gone for a drive. Probably to keep the more heated argument out of earshot. Virgil listened carefully at the sounds coming from the first floor.

                Patton’s soft voice echoed off the walls, too quiet to be heard through Virgil’s closed door. Slipping out of bed, Virgil tiptoed to the door, pushing it open as slow as he possibly could. He could hear Logan, too. Short statements, few words… it was mostly quiet. Creeping forward a bit, Virgil peeked over the railing around the stairs to see… _anything_ , really. Were they still fighting? Was the resolution in the yard nothing but a misunderstanding?

                Logan was slammed against the wall before Virgil could hypothesize any further. Virgil’s blood ran cold. Did Patton push him? Was the fight getting physical? What had happened when they weren’t for the drive? He watched carefully, hoping that Logan wouldn’t respond with his own violence. To his surprised, Logan didn’t. In fact, he only looked mildly disgruntled by the push. After a second, Logan huffed a laugh and grinned smugly. Virgil squinted. Why was he happy?

                That question was answered when Patton stepped into view, pushing Logan flat against the wall. His hands carded through Logan’s hair, tangling and gripping tight as he drew Logan forward into a messy kiss. Virgil pushed himself back and away from the stairs, stumbling a bit when he heard Logan’s low, amused chuckle and Patton’s high-pitched giggle.

                Well… they certainly weren’t fighting. Virgil sighed, relieved. He wrung his hands in the air, trying to dry his sweaty palms. At least they weren’t screaming at each other anymore. But it was awkward to witness something like that. Even if he was a mature kid, it was weird seeing his parents kiss. He knew they were in love, sure… but this was a whole other category of weird. Virgil slunk back from the stairs, sliding back into his room and back to youthful ignorance.

                Whatever was going down there, Virgil didn’t need to be witness. They probably thought he was asleep. As he readied himself to lay down, Virgil froze. Patton could hear thoughts. Had he heard Virgil at the top of the stairs? Did he know that Virgil had snuck a peak?

                His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he heard feet on the stairs. Scrambling to tuck himself under the covers, Virgil tried to think of anything other than what he’d just witnessed. It didn’t work. The more that he tried _not_ to think of Patton pressing Logan to the wall, the more he _did_ think of it. He threw the blankets over his head as his bedroom door opened with a slow, drawn out _creak._

                “Hey, kiddo,” Patton’s voice was low and soft. Virgil huffed. There was no use trying to feign sleep. Patton knew he was awake.

                “Hey,” he mumbled from under the covers, his back to the door as he hid. He heard Patton chuckle a little. That immediately reminded Virgil of what he’d just witness. He bit the inside of his cheek. _Stop_ thinking about it. The bed dipped as Patton sat on the edge of the bed, sighing to himself.

                “Ah… I didn’t notice you up there, kiddo,” Patton admitted. He laughed to himself. “I was… distracted. Logan thinks _very_ loudly.”

                Virgil snorted. “I believe that.”

                “You gonna come out from the blankets?”

                Shrugging slightly, Virgil curled in on himself a little tighter. “Are you guys still fighting?”

                Patton paused, and a hand came to rest on Virgil’s shoulder. “No, we’re not.”

                They were both quiet for a moment. “You were really mad.”

                “I was,” Patton hummed lowly. “And so was Logan. He thought… he _was_ justified in his reasoning. And so was I. But... marriage is not a picnic.” Patton laughed, but it was flat and humorless. “It’s… it’s about compromising. Reasoning with each other to make each other happy. Because we love each other,” he leaned over, resting his head against Virgil’s side as he murmured, “And because we love you, too.”

                Virgil squirmed. “I thought you were fighting _because_ of me.”

                Patton sighed again, his head a steady weight against Virgil’s side. “We fought because of a difference of opinion. The heart and the mind have _very_ different opinions. But ultimately, we want what’s best for you.”

                Finally tugging down the blankets, Virgil gave Patton a suspicious look. “I messed stuff up. If I hadn’t done the spell wrong, you wouldn’t have been fighting.”

                “You shouldn’t have done the spell in the first place,” Patton chided lightly, reaching up a hand to ruffle Virgil’s hair. “You’re still too young.”

                Wriggling on the bed until he could comfortably face Patton, Virgil frowned. “Why would Logan want me to try the spell if I’m too young for it?”

                For a moment, Patton’s eyes were dark and lonely. Virgil could see Logan hovering in the doorway, leaning against the wall with a tired expression. Patton finally murmured, “Logan’s parents always pushed him to do everything he possibly could… even if it was out of his reach.” He smiled, but Virgil couldn’t see the warmth in his eyes. “I get that they probably wanted the best for him, but… not all kids can learn like that. _You_ can’t learn like that. You have a different way. You are your own person. We have to respect that.”

                From the doorway, Logan hung his head a bit. “It seems we… _I_ still have a bit to learn about parenting.” His glasses glinted in the sallow moonlight that shone through Virgil’s window, making it impossible for Virgil to see exactly what expression he was making. “We’ll do better next time.”

                While Virgil stared at Logan, his head heavy with thoughts and unable to form words, Patton’s hand came up to card through his hair. It was soft. Loving. Like Patton wanted to make things right. It didn’t erase the fight. It didn’t make things magically better. It just reiterated that he loved Virgil. He’d probably say it, too, if Virgil asked. He would say anything to make Virgil feel loved. Over and over until he believed.

                “We didn’t mean to upset you, Virgil. We were just worried for you.” Patton said gently, his hands gentle as he pet Virgil’s hair. He loved him. Logan loved him. Cared for him. Virgil’s face felt hot. He tried to blink away the itchy, wobbly tears, but they fell anyway. Patton didn’t comment on them. He just kept petting Virgil’s hair.

                Logan stepped into the room, taking slow, careful steps toward the bed. He knelt down in front of Virgil, pulling a folded kerchief from his pocket. He passed the soft fabric over Virgil’s cheeks, wiping away the salty tears with a calm, passive expression. Logan pressed the kerchief into one of Virgil’s fisted hands. A peace-offering? No… a gift. A symbol. His words were gentle when he spoke. So earnest, Virgil almost felt his heart break. He looked Virgil in the eyes and softly promised, “I’m sorry that this happened.” He paused, and Virgil blinked, fresh tears falling over his cheeks. Logan brush them away with a swipe of his thumb. “Next time… _I_ will do better.”

+++++

                After the protego incident, days in the Sanders household passed by leisurely. Most days were spent pouring over the mundane topics of history, safety, and control. Virgil didn’t like these topics, but he enjoyed the days where he could actually practice his magic.

He’d learned to use expelliarmus properly, and more than once, he’d used it to make a pen fly out of Logan’s hand when he should have been eating dinner. Patton loved it, but Logan… he wasn’t as amused. Patton had taught Virgil to read patterns in the grounds of Logan’s coffee, and more than once, he found himself peering into the bottom of his own cup of hot chocolate to see what his fortune would be. He was rarely successful, but Logan and Patton encouraged his curiosity.

                For the first time… Virgil was experiencing domestic life. And, surprisingly, he _loved_ it. He loved the way Logan would fret over him when he’d pick up a certain ingredient in the lab, or how Patton would make him “taste-test” every dish he made. He loved how Logan would check up on him during long afternoons, making sure Virgil was reading the textbook he’d given him. He loved the way Patton would kiss his forehead before he went to bed, and how Logan would always be willing to make him a glass of Patton’s sleep-remedy on nights were Virgil couldn’t fall asleep.

                This wasn’t to say every day was a picture-perfect example of magical domesticity. There were still long, tired lulls in their time. Days where Virgil felt restless and itched for movement. These days always seemed to fall on days where Logan – the man most willing to teach Virgil something _new_ – was not at home.

                Every Tuesday and Thursday, Logan would disappear to attend his potions class, leaving Virgil and Patton to spend the days quietly. Patton liked to call them the "lazy T-days" where they could take a break from straining Virgil's steadily growing magical abilities. Sometimes, he liked those days. He would sit with Patton in the living room and read while Patton knit or they’d bake cookies or brownies in the kitchen until Logan returned. But, most times, he felt like he was missing something. It almost always felt like being inactive was a crime.

                He wasn't doing enough. There were things he should have been learning. He needed to move. Take note of something... know everything. It made his hands fidget and scratch at his shirt sleeves when he sat in his bedroom in the middle of July.

                Patton had sent him up to take a nap. He didn't need one, but when he yawned in the living room, Patton insisted he take a quick rest.

                "It's a lazy day!" Patton had laughed as he watered the plants. "Might as well take advantage of it. Logan will have us hard at work again tomorrow."

                So, with no real argument for that, Virgil sat on his bed, staring out the window. The hot summer sun hung high in the sky, sending long, warm rays of sunshine across the floorboards of Virgil's room. He watched the way the tall grasses in the fields around the house, counting the waves of light that shimmered across the scattering seeds.

                He was antsy. He couldn't just sit in his room all day. Maybe if he asked nicely, Patton could teach him another easy charm. All he had to do was ask nicely... Patton could easily be swayed with a properly placed "please" and a smile.

                Nodding to himself, Virgil steeled his nerves and tucked his wand into the large pocket of his hoodie, heading to the door. He descended the stairs slowly, wincing with ever creak and groan of the wood. The house was quiet. Unnervingly so. With one peak into the kitchen, he saw a lack of movement; the dishes sat still in the sink, and the sponge lay un-charmed on the counter. He couldn't even hear Patton's familiar singing.

                After a moment of exploration, he found Patton on the sofa, laid out as stiff as a board and eyes shut tight. It was almost off-putting. He wasn't knitting. Or reading. Or even sketching in his little notepad. His glasses were set on the coffee table, and without them, Virgil could see dark, tired circles beneath Patton's eyes. Had he always been that exhausted? Virgil didn't remember seeing those dark circles before he went to 'take a nap.'

                Patton's smile was strained as he whispered, "You're thinkin' rather loud there, kiddo."

                Virgil shuffled to the side of the sofa, kneeling down next to Patton and trying to calm his racing thoughts. "Sorry," he whispered. Patton's smile just tightened as he opened his eyes and squinted over at him. The whites of his eyes were marked red with straining blood vessels, and a line of frustration marked his brow. Virgil ducked his head a little lower. "Are you okay?"

                Patton sighed. "I've got a little bit of a migraine."

                "Oh," Virgil bit his lip. What was he supposed to do? Patton was obviously in pain. It was probably why Patton sent him away earlier. Had he hoped the migraine would be gone by the time Virgil came downstairs? Virgil sat up with a start; were his thoughts making it worse?

                Patton's eyes fluttered closed and he breathed, "It’s okay, kiddo. It's not your fault."

                Virgil frowned. That didn't answer his question. Was talking worse? Was it better if he just thought of questions and let Patton read them? What would make it better?

                Patton grimaced -- a rare sight -- and threw an arm over his face. "Everything makes it worse right now, kiddo." Virgil ducked his head shamefully, and Patton was quick to take his arm away from his face and sit up. He wobbled in place for a moment, his bloodshot eyes seeming glazed and confused. After regaining his balance, Patton placed a hand on Virgil's shoulder and gave him a pained smile. "I'm sorry, Virgil. My head is..." he paused, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "Excuse me."

                Abruptly, he stood and marched out of the room, stumbling at bit when he reached the kitchen. Virgil shuffled after him, watching as Patton started to walk to the bathroom, stopped short, and merely tipped over the kitchen sick, emptying he contents of his stomach into the metal basin.

                Virgil jumped back, feeling his own stomach churn and heave at the sight. Patton lifted his head, trying to take a breath, and Virgil felt sick at the sight. He shouldn't have lingered on that thought. Patton must've heard his discomfort. Maybe he even felt it. Either way, he vomited again, his head hung low as he retched until here was nothing left to expel.

                Virgil didn't notice that he'd backed up into the dining room. He didn't even register the feeling of the wall at his back. He just flattened himself against the wall and watched, scared and unsure, as Patton lifted his head, took a shuddering breath, and lowered himself down onto the floor. There were tears marking fresh trails down his face along with a line of spit on his chin, but he didn't wipe it away. He simply sat on the floor, his back against the cabinets and his hands in his lap.

                He looked defeated.

                "'M sorry, Virgil," Patton finally croaked after a minute of silence. The sound startled Virgil and he found himself taking a deep breath that felt like the first he'd taken in years. Patton's eyes fluttered shut as he wiped his chin on the back of his hand. "I'm usually better at managing these..." he trailed off, his head lolling to the side. The following silence was unnerving. Maybe it hurt Patton to talk. Virgil frowned. That made everything worse. How could he help if Patton didn’t tell him what to do?

                Stepping away from the wall carefully, Virgil skittered to the living room and grabbed the phone. He needed to ask for help on this one. Even if Logan hated phones, it was Virgil’s best shot. Logan probably wouldn't know how to answer his "emergency" cellphone even if it rang. Even so, Virgil opened the notebook of spare numbers, found Logan's name, and dialed with trembling fingers. The phone rang. 

                "Come on," Virgil whispered into the receiver. He didn't know what to do. Patton was sick. Patton was in pain. Virgil didn't have the know-how or experience to help. He needed an adult. The phone rang twice. " _Come_   _on_..." his voice was uneven and his hands were shaking.

                He'd never seen Patton like this. Patton was unbeatable. Patton was always smiling. Patton was, and always should be, untouchable. The phone rang a third time, and Virgil's heart thudded madly as the line clicked, and Logan's voice came through.

                "Hello," he sounded bored and irritated, but Virgil didn't care. He was overjoyed that he answered at all. "This is Logan Sanders."

                "Logan," Virgil gasped, holding the phone to his face as he peered around the corner into the kitchen. Patton was still sitting on the floor, eyes closed and body unmoving. "Help."

                "Virgil?" Logan's mood immediately changed. There was concern in his voice, and he sounded like a man on high-alert, ready for danger. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

                "I'm... I'm okay. It's Patton, he... he told me to take a nap but I wasn't tired, and... and I came downstairs and he... he said he had a migraine and I didn't know what to do, then he got sick and now – "

                "Slow down, Virgil; I can hardly understand you." He was officially in damage-control mode. Virgil could hear it in his tone when Logan said, "Take a deep breath, Virgil. Tell me what's happening."

                "Patton has a migraine." Virgil managed to sputter. "He got sick."

                After a few seconds, Logan sighed. "I see. Migraines happen, Virgil. It's not your fault." He paused, then repeated, "It's not your fault."

                "I know," Virgil lied. He blamed himself. That wasn't going to change.

                "Migraines for Patton are a bit routine. He knows when they're coming and tries to prepare for them in advance." Logan continued. "The best thing you can do for him is give him distance. During headaches or migraines, legimency can render Patton completely immobile at times. Reading thoughts becomes physically painful."

                Virgil felt his chest tighten. "So it was my fault."

                "No. No, it wasn't. Listen, Virgil," Logan was calm and methodical in his delivery, and somehow, it was comforting. "You cannot not think. You think, therefore you are. Patton's legimency is a constant struggle. And if he knew you blamed yourself for this, do you know what he'd say?"

                Virgil ducked his head. "That I was wrong."

                "Precisely. Now..." he took a breath. "Are you alright?"

                Virgil blinked; why would Logan ask that? He wasn't the one in pain. He wasn't suffering. He was just the awkward child stuck in a tense situation. Tapping the back of the phone anxiously, Virgil mumbled, "Yeah? Why?"

                Logan’s voice was irritatingly calm and rational as he said, "You called me in a panic, Virgil. I could barely understand what you were saying." He paused, and Virgil took the time I stare at the floor guiltily. "It sounded like you might have been experiencing a panic attack. Are you sure you're alright?"

                Virgil lowered himself down onto the sofa, leaning back so he could see Patton through the kitchen door. He was still sitting on the floor, but now he was massaging his temples, his eyes closed tight and mouth set in a thin line. Virgil sighed, feeling his heartrate begin to slow. His palms were sweaty. He still shook a little bit. But, with Logan’s reassurance, he felt a little better.

                “Yeah,” he finally muttered into the receiver. “I’m okay.”

                “Good. Virgil, keep in mind, this isn’t your fault.” Logan’s voice was still level and professional, but Virgil swore he heard a hint of affection in the words. “Sometimes Patton’s legimency just… overwhelms him. This is unfortunately normal for him, and impossible to prevent. Until I get home, just try to keep your distance.”

                “Keep my distance,” Virgil repeated lowly.

                “Yes. You could read the chapters I pointed out to you in your arithmancy book, or practice your tonics in the lab.” Logan sounded tired when he said, “When I come home, I’ll fix something for him. He’ll be alright.”

                Fix something? Virgil sat up. If it was a potion, he could probably do it. Logan said he held a lot of potential. “I could make it for him,” Virgil said quickly, hoping to be of use. “What is it? A potion?”

                “No.” Logan was quick to shut him down. “No, you cannot make it for him. The most crucial ingredient is _very_ potent. If you add just a drop too many, Patton would be in a coma for several days.”

                Virgil deflated. Of course he couldn’t do it. “Oh.”

                After a moment, Logan sighed heavily. The line crackled with static, and Virgil winced as he held the phone away from his ear. Logan returned a few seconds later. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself or Patton. When you’re older, I’ll let you work with jarren root. Alright?”

                Shrugging a little, Virgil mumbled, “Sure.”

                Logan took this as a promising response, said his goodbye, and hung up the phone. When the dial-tone sounded, Virgil dropped the phone onto his thigh. He just had to spend a few hours until Logan came home. He crept into the hallway, peeking into the kitchen and seeing Patton sitting at the kitchen island, his head resting atop his crossed arms. If Virgil hadn’t known any better he would’ve guessed that Patton was just taking a nap.

                Fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket, Virgil kept his distance as he called, “Do you wanna lay down again?” Patton hummed something faintly, and Virgil tugged at the hem of his jacket. “I can stay down here if you want to go lay down in your room.”

                When Patton spoke, his voice was hoarse and tired. Virgil pitied him. “The parents are supposed to worry about the child… not the other way around, kiddo.”

                Virgil huffed. “Yeah, well… you’ve got the migraine, not me.”

                Patton raised his head to give Virgil a half-hearted grin. “Are you sassing me, young man?”

                “Maybe.” Virgil shuffled his foot while Patton laughed, grimaced, and put his head down again. A soft, lingering quiet settled in the house as Virgil stood at the end of the hall, watching Patton’s eyes flutter shut. He was probably going to fall asleep there against the cold linoleum countertop. Virgil kicked his foot against the wall softly. “Seriously though… if you want to go upstairs, you can. I can stay down here.”

                Patton didn’t reply. Virgil leaned forward a bit, listening to the way Patton’s breathing had become slow and even. He’d already fallen asleep. Shrugging lightly, Virgil stowed away in his room. He didn’t want to practice his tonics alone… he didn’t want to make a possible mistake. Logan wasn’t there to help and Patton was his no shape to clean up a mess. He also didn’t want to read his arithmancy textbook. That was boring. Logan made him do extra math.

                Curling up in bed, Virgil pulled his blankets up over his head. It was sweltering. The height of summer. He didn’t care. The weight of the blankets was comforting. He couldn’t ask Patton for a hug to calm him down… that would just make things worse. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to wait out the smothering feeling in his chest. He was starting to sweat. He couldn’t relax.

                After a few minutes of this, Virgil kicked off the blankets and threw open his window, letting the lazy, Thursday afternoon breeze flow into his room. Breathing in the scent of the grasses and trees beyond the fields, Virgil felt the anxious knot his stomach slowly unravel. That was much, _much_ better. He eventually laid himself out on his bed atop the blankets, eyes closed and listening to the gasses rustle in the fields around the house. It was soothing. So soothing, he barely heard the front door open and shut. He blinked himself out of his daze stupor, sitting up when he heard Logan’s voice coming from the first floor. How did he get home so soon? Virgil hadn’t fallen asleep. Had he?

                Taking the stairs slowly – hoping to avoid any headache aggravating creaking – Virgil peaked around the railing to see Logan standing at the kitchen isle with Patton. He pulled something out of his pocket. A small vial and dropper. Patton gave it a quick look, then leaned over to smile at Virgil.

                “Hey, kiddo,” he called softly. His eyes still looked a little bloodshot. “Have a good nap?”

                Slipping around the last few steps, Virgil shrugged. “I guess. Are you feeling better?”

                Patton opened his mouth to no doubt say he was fine, but Logan interrupted. “The migraine has persisted. Which is why I’m sending you to bed to sleep it off.”

                Patton pulled a face. “I haven’t made dinner.”

                “I’m more than capable of cooking, Patton,” Logan said evenly as he pulled Patton from his stool and toward the stairs.

                Patton put up a fuss, trying to hang onto the kitchen island while Virgil quirked an eyebrow at his behavior. “I… I’m feeling better, Logan. I don’t need to take that stuff!”

                “I won’t force it on you, but I will force you to lay down and _rest_.”

                Not waiting for Patton’s response, Logan tugged him along, stumbling a bit on the stairs, until they were safely in their bedroom. Virgil followed along. There wasn’t much else to do, and… well, he was worried about Patton. When Logan waved him over, Virgil stood close as Logan pulled out a small dropper and dipped it into the vial. He took a little of the liquid in, then set the vial aside.

                “Well?” He asked Patton, watching the way Patton squinted and frowned at the dropper. “It _will_ help you sleep.”

                Patton grimaced as he took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. “It tastes funny.”

                Logan raised his eyebrows. “Please, act like an adult. You should be an example to Virgil.”

                “Cruel Logan,” Patton said dramatically, holding a hand to his breast. “Using our son against me.”

                Virgil snorted at that, but Logan persisted. “Lay back, Patton. Your migraine will be gone when you wake up.”

                With a heavy sigh, Patton closed his eyes tight as he laid back in bed. Logan sat next to him, holding the dropper over Patton’s lips. They were shut tight. Logan rolled his eyes. “Open,” he said lowly. Patton didn’t move. Logan shook his head and mumbled, “Please.”

                Patton – immune to manners – parted his lips just a fraction of an inch, and Logan leaned forward to carefully, squeeze the dropper until a single bead of the liquid fell onto Patton’s tongue. Immediately, Patton spasmed on the bed, sticking his tongue out and whining.

                “Gah! So icky!” He wrung his hands for a bit before pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. “Ah, _Logan_! It’s making the migraine _worse_!”

                Calmly, Logan put the dropper on the bedside table and sealed the small vial. “Count to three, Patton.”

                After groaning a bit, Patton lowered his hands. “One, two –” that was as far as he got before his entire body went slack. His eyes fluttered shut and his expression smoothed out from tense frustration to calm serenity. Logan sat back with a smile.

                Virgil squinted. “What was that stuff?”

                Holding up the vial, Logan shook it slightly before putting it back into his pocket. “Extract of jarren root, Virgil. It’s normally very toxic, but if properly diluted, it can be used as a sleep aid.” He reached out to push the brown hair from Patton’s eyes before he said, “Sadly, it’s difficult to dilute. If the wrong substance is used, the toxicity becomes worse. So, this is the best we can do.”

                Virgil nodded slowly, following Logan out of the room and flicking the light switch on his way out. The room was engulfed in darkness and Logan pulled the door shut with an air of finality. Putting an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, he led him back downstairs and sat him down at the dinner table. Virgil fidgeted. Whenever they sat at the table, it was normally to have a deep discussion on what he’d read. But he didn’t read what Logan told him to… he’d probably be in trouble.

                Surprisingly, Logan didn’t launch into arithmancy practices. Instead, he took out his work satchel and pulled out a manila envelope. He placed it on the table and slid it toward Virgil before he sat down and smoothed his tie. “I received this from the Principal of our faction of Ilvermorny while at work, today.”

                Virgil glanced up at Logan, then back down to the folder. “The principal?”

                “Yes.” Logan nodded before he indicated to the folder. “Go on. It’s for you, Virgil.”

                Carefully pulling at the sealed end, Virgil tore open the envelope with trembling hands. Was he in trouble for something? Was he going to be forced to redo the first year? He would be the odd one out. People would probably think he was stupid. Everyone would _look_ at him.

                After a moment of hesitation, Virgil reached inside the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. At the very top, there was a congratulatory letter. He set it aside. Next, there was a list. Some sort of shopping list for school supplies. Virgil blinked. The top read: **Second Year Students are Required to bring the following** **items..**. Without thinking, Virgil smiled.

                Across the table, Logan adjusted his glasses with a smile. “You have been officially invited to the Ilvermorny school of Witchcraft, Virgil.” When Virgil looked up, Logan was smiling at him. “I’m very proud of you.”

                Smiling back, Virgil glanced at the school list. There were a lot of things he’d need to get… he’d probably have to go back to Piaza Pass with Logan and Patton. But he didn’t care. He was officially a wizarding student. His hands shook as he picked up his congratulatory letter, reading the looping, exaggerated script that highlighted Logan and Patton’s high recommendation of his skills.

                His heart pounded, but he wasn’t scared. He was _excited_. He was going to belong somewhere. He would be there alongside his new parents. Gripping the paper tightly, Virgil looked up to see Logan scanning the required materials list.

                “When I was with Dahlia, I hated going to school,” Virgil said softly. Logan lifted his eyes to give him a sympathetic look, and Virgil tried not to linger on the pity in his eyes when he said, “Now I’m… I’m kinda looking forward to it.” Logan smiled at that, and Virgil smiled, too.

                He’d already endured some tough times with Patton and Logan… so how bad could wizarding school be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for school to begin?  
> See you next chapter!


	5. Lilies Drenched in the Sunset

                Like an award-winning Broadway show, summer came to a close that left Virgil wanting _more_. He wanted more lazy afternoons spent with Patton, cooking and reading the hours away. He wanted more long, thoughtful evenings with Logan, burning the midnight oil as Virgil brought his own spark of creativity into Logan’s realm of reality. He wanted those quiet mornings, sweet and soft, to go on forever. For the sunlight to dream through the dining room window just so, and watch Patton kiss Logan ‘good morning’ before Logan took his first sip of coffee. He wanted those heartwarming days to go on… but they didn’t.

Against Virgil’s wishes, August arrived with a cool, delayed breeze through the fields. Though he was interested in starting school, he was _not_ interested in meeting new people. Those scenarios clashed unhappily with his anxiety, making his stomach twist with discomfort. He had resigned himself to hiding behind Patton and Logan as long as he was able. The less he had to speak to strangers, the better.

                Bags were packed, the house was tidied, and Virgil was bundled in the heaviest fabric known to man, ready for departure. At least, they would be if Patton wasn’t still fighting with the clasp to keep Virgil’s cloak closed. The new traveling robes were warm. Still too warm to wear in late August, but Patton digressed. He insisted Ilvermorny was at such a high altitude, Virgil would be very cold by the time they arrived. So, resigning to Patton’s paternal whimsy, Virgil stood still as Patton brushed off his shoulders and admired his work.

                “Oh, look at you!” Patton’s eyes glittered with excitement as he made a gesture for Virgil to turn in a circle. Rolling his eyes, Virgil complied, turning in a slow, shuffling circle. The cloak was still too big, and Patton had done his best to hem it, but the fabric still brushed along the ground where Virgil stood. Really, Virgil must’ve looked like a small, black rectangle with a child’s head poking out of the top. Patton, however, seemed to think he was adorable. He fluttered his hands over his face, making a high-pitched squeaking sound as he smiled. “I _have_ to get a picture! Stay there. Don’t move.”

                Just as Logan descended the stairs with his luggage in hand, Patton gestured animatedly at Virgil. “Logan! Look how cute he is!”

                Giving Virgil a quick onceover, Logan quirked an eyebrow. “You look warm.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil muttered, swinging his arms to and fro in an attempt to stir up a breeze under the weighted fabric. “It’s heavy.”

                Glossing over that statement, Patton leaned against Logan’s shoulder and smiled. “Logan, where did I leave the camera?”

                Logan hesitated. “Do you mean _our_ camera, or the No-Maj camera?”

                “The No-Maj camera is faster,” Patton said to himself as he stepped away from Logan and bounded up the stairs. “Hold on! I think I left it on the bookshelf!”

                Listening to Patton sing something to himself as he rummaged through his bookshelf, Logan shook his head and stepped into the living room. He set down his luggage with a sigh, giving Virgil’s attire another quick look. He fixed the way Virgil’s hood folded against his back, took a step back, and nodded in approval. “Very nice.”

                Virgil shrugged, pursing his lips before asking, “Shouldn’t we have left by now?” He glanced at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. It was well past three o’clock, and Patton didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

                Logan took his long, black robe off of the back of the sofa, pulling it over his shoulders with a flourish. “Patton has never been good at keeping to a schedule,” he sighed. After closing the clasp on his own cloak, Logan watched as Patton danced down the stairs with a camera in his hand. He gave Virgil a pitying look. “It’s one of his very few flaws.”

                “Hey!” Patton said indignantly as he turned on the camera. “Don’t you go telling Virgil all my flaws!”

                “Don’t worry… I wasn’t listening.” Virgil lied as he gave Patton a sideways smile.

                Patton knew he was lying. Even so, he smiled back and lifted the camera, waving Logan over and ordering him and Virgil to smile. “C’mon, c’mon! Get close. Just like that! I want to send a picture of my two favorite boys to my parents… and you should smile!”

                Virgil blinked. His two favorite boys? He glanced up at Logan, seeing a half-amused expression on the older man’s face. Virgil felt his chest lighten. He was one of Patton’s favorite boys. The warmth in his chest was probably silly… he shouldn’t have been so happy… still, he felt a smile on his face as he turned back to the camera. The camera _clicked_ and flashed, and Patton bit his lower lip with a smile, looking down at the camera with a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

                “Now that we’ve taken a picture,” Logan said evenly as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “We should get going, Patton.”

                “Mm-hmm,” Patton nodded, pressing a few buttons on the camera while Virgil rocked back on his heels restlessly. He wanted to go. If they went to Ilvermorny, he hopefully wouldn’t feel like he was melting. Taking his time, Patton placed the camera in the front pouch of his own suitcase, pulling on his wizarding robes with a flourish. After he pulled his luggage close to Virgil, he smiled and put his hands on his hips. “I can take a hint, kiddo. Let’s roll!”

                Logan made a face. “Roll? We’re not going in a car. We’re going to apparate.”

                “It’s an expression, honey,” Patton sighed as he opened his cloak and draped the fabric around Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil almost made a move to walk away, but Patton’s hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him to his side without any option of escape. “You’ll be going with me, kiddo. Make sure you hold onto me.”

                Hold on tight? Would there be a chance he’d get lost somewhere along the way to Ilvermorny? Patton’s hand on his shoulder tightened, and Patton leaned forward to smile at Virgil reassuringly. Trying to keep negativity at bay, Virgil smiled back. He was safe with Patton and Logan. Safer than he’d been in the past, at least.

                Watching closely, Virgil leaned against Patton as Logan took his luggage – and Virgil’s small bag full of new school robes and textbooks – and took a breath. From that perfect angle, the sun that streamed through the living room window was glinting off the lenses of his glasses, and when Virgil squinted and looked away, trying to avoid the glare, Logan’s entire body warped and disappeared along with the luggage. Just… gone. Virgil blinked and tried rubbing his eyes. But Logan was completely gone.

                For a brief moment, Patton let go of Virgil to wiggle his fingers in front of Virgil’s face mischievously. “ _Magic_ ,” he whispered in a sing-song voice.

                Virgil was quick to push the hands out of his face, but couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter that came with it. Patton smiled, stood up straight, and put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, pulling him in for an odd, sideways hug. At least, Virgil thought it was a hug. He wrapped his arms around Patton instinctively, feeling only one of Patton’s arms on his shoulder. The other arm went to grasp the handle of his suitcase. Virgil braced himself.

                Apparition was new territory. He didn’t want to get stuck halfway. So he held on tight, pressing his face against Patton’s chest while Patton comfortingly rubbed his back.

                “You might get a little dizzy,” Patton said softly, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Just close your eyes and hang on tight. We’ll be there before you know it.”

                It was a sufficient warning, and Virgil _did_ close his eyes… but he opened them again when Patton pulled his suitcase a little closer. At first, it seemed like they weren’t going anywhere. But the colors of the world around him started to bleed together, blood rushed in his ears, and he swore he could feel himself hurtling through the air. It nearly reminded him of when he tried casting protego, but… he _knew_ he wasn’t moving.

                He was still safe in Patton’s arms, watching as the world seemed to twist and contort in a bizarre reenactment of an infinity symbol. His feet didn’t feel like they were on the ground anymore. His stomach got a strange sense of weightlessness, and he quickly closed his eyes. He should’ve listened to Patton.

                All too soon, it was over, leaving Virgil feeling a bit of whiplash as he stumbled on foreign soil and tipped forward into Patton’s waiting arms. Patton laughed at that. “I told you to close your eyes, kiddo. Dizzy?”

                Shrugging, Virgil swallowed thickly. Dizzy didn’t begin to describe what he felt. He blinked, looking around with wide eyes. The house was gone. They were in the middle of a forest, surrounded by tall, impressive evergreen trees. It was beautiful, and the air was clear and crisp… but where was the school? Just a few feet away, Logan stood with his and Virgil’s bags, giving him a half-amused look.

                “There you are,” Logan said calmly. He didn’t seem all that surprised by their small delay. With Patton’s habit of taking his time, Virgil wouldn’t be surprised if this happened often. Logan straightened his glasses and looked up, past the trees. Virgil followed his gaze, seeing a rather impressive silhouette around the side of the mountain. Was that Ilvermorny? It was… far away. Virgil frowned, and Logan dusted off the edges of his cloak. “This is as close as we get to Ilvermorny by apparition.”

                Patton leaned down and whispered, “We can’t apparate on school grounds.”

                Pursing his lips, Virgil grasped at the inside of his cloak, pulling the heavy fabric closer around him. Patton was right… it was cold on the mountain. Though, in retrospect, Patton should’ve mentioned they would be _walking_ to Ilvermorny. Next to him, Patton giggled.

                “Oh, kiddo… you think we’re walking?” He _tsk_ ed Virgil with a shake of his head, putting his hands on his hips. “No, no, no. We’re going to travel in _style_.”

                Not bothering to ask what that meant, Virgil jumped in surprise when Logan put his fingers to his lips and let out a long, loud whistle. The sound echoed eerily off the trees, rattling the birds of the forest. After the whistle faded away into a shrill, foreign memory, Virgil heard the sound of several birds taking flight, frightened by the sudden noise. But then, even that faded away, leaving the forest oddly quiet. Virgil waited for something to happen, glancing up at Patton’s patient smile.

                What were they waiting for?

                Right on cue, Virgil heard hooves on the forest floor. Horses? He leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the animals moving through the trees. Patton’s arm came around his shoulders to hold him in place, making sure he wouldn’t fall over. Virgil bit the inside of his cheek, hearing the pounding sound of movement draw closer.

                Virgil had expected horses – or, at the very least, something familiar. What appeared before him was not familiar. The animals were silvery, feathered creatures with hooves that shone bronze in the thin sunlight. They were large, like horses, and still quadrupeds… but Virgil had no idea what to call them. It almost reminded him of a Pegasus with the hooves and feathers… but they didn’t have wings. And though the heads were long and thin like a horse, where there should have been large, innocent eyes, there was nothing but unnerving, hollow craters. Virgil shifted a little close to Patton as four of the creatures approached, pulling an old-fashioned carriage behind them.

                They trotted up to Logan, coming to a shuddering stop and puffing their feathers out in a display of alertness. Logan reached out a hand, grabbing ahold of one hardness and walking along the sides of the beasts before he could lift his luggage up into the carriage. He put Virgil’s in as well before he turned and waved Virgil and Patton over.

                “Come on, kiddo.” Patton glanced down, obviously sensing Virgil’s hesitance, and smiled. “They don’t bite. I promise.”

                Though he made a face, he walked up to the mystery creatures with Patton, keeping a careful on the creatures as they shook out their feathers and made a low, rumbling, chirping sound. The rattled the harnesses, and Virgil flinched away, leaning closer to Patton while Logan placed the rest of their bags into the carriage.

                Logan turned to Virgil, but not before glancing at the carriage once more. Virgil blinked. He was still too short to climb over the edge on his own. Before he could prepare himself, Virgil was hoisted into the air by Logan’s hands under his arms and lifted up and over the edge of the carriage with little effort. He stumbled a little on the floor of the carriage, steadying himself when Logan took his hands away. He blinked and watched as Logan gave Patton a hand into the carriage; he was stronger than he looked.

                When they were all in the carriage, Virgil sat next to Patton, scooting close in an attempt to stay warm. Logan pulled his wand out from the folds of his cloak and gave it a flick, and Virgil winced as the harness on the feathered creatures _snapped_. The carriage lurched forward for a moment while the creatures found their footing, then they were pulled smoothly through the forest, watching the canopy of treetops melt together above them. Virgil leaned into Patton, glancing around the dark, foreign landscape cautiously. He didn’t like strange places. Patton’s arm snaked around his shoulders, pulling Virgil in for a sideways hug.

                “Don’t worry, kiddo! We don’t have that far to go.”

                On the opposite seat, Logan leaned back and eyed the trail they traveled, squinting down the path before nodding. “The barrier isn’t too far ahead. About a half an hour.”

                Virgil turned around in his seat to see where they were going. The forest seemed endless. He couldn’t even see the clearing where they first appeared anymore. They were near Ilvermorny… but what was the barrier? What was that for? To keep people out of Ilvermorny? Maybe it was to keep the strange, feathered animals off the school grounds. Virgil narrowed his eyes at the creatures. What _were_ they?

                “An excellent question, Virgil!” Patton piped up brightly. Virgil jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, and turned to sit in his seat properly. Patton adjusted his glasses. “These creatures are actually a distant cousin of the hippogriff. They’re sort of like a mix between a hippogriff and a horse, but not quite.” He looked oddly scholarly as he folded his hands in his lap and explained, “Hippogriffs are _very_ proud creatures, and difficult to catch. These creatures, however, are a kind of domesticated relative to them. In a way, they don’t have much pride at all. They thrive by surrounding themselves with caretakers. Like wolves and dogs, they are similar, but have their own unique differences.”

                Logan’s lips quirked up in a smile. “An astute explanation and simile.”

                Patton grinned at the praise, regaining his sense of childish warmth as Virgil rolled his eyes and smiled. Virgil glanced over his shoulder at the animals, watching as they tossed their heads, clicking and purring as they lead the carriage through the trees. They looked… well, Virgil couldn’t adequately describe it. Warm? Pleasant? He pursed his lips and glanced at their silvery, smooth feathers. Patton nudged him with an elbow.

                “The feathers are pretty darn soft,” he whispered with a smile. Virgil looked away, feigning ignorance while Patton chuckled. “I bet if you asked nicely, you could even ride one of them when we get to Ilvermorny.” Across from them, Logan stiffed in his seat, glancing around the trees with a painfully neutral expression. Patton ignored it. “Does that sound like fun?”

                Virgil felt his stomach twist. “Nah… I’m good.” He tugged the black, heavy lining of his cloak closer to himself as a rush of wind cut through the tree branches. “I’m not good with heights.”

                “That’s fine,” Logan said softly, his eyes still lingering on the shadows that had evenly spread themselves across the forest floor. “We should focus on settling you into your dorm before we do any other extracurricular activities.”

                His words were firm and serious… but there was a strange weightlessness to them. Almost like the seriousness that accompanied all of his other words didn’t really have a place in these ones. It was an odd combination: Logan and disinterest. He seemed listless as he stared out at the forest. Virgil watched him, following his gaze and trying to see whatever Logan was searching for. He never found it in the underbrush as they rattled forward. There was nothing to be seen. Or, if there was, it didn’t make itself known to Virgil or Patton.

                They rode like this for nearly twenty minutes, and the longer they rode, the lighter the forest became. Streaks of white made their way through the forest, like winter’s hands were reaching out through the grass and soil, taking hold of the earth and refusing to let go. It wasn’t long before snow surrounded them, and the carriage made winding tracks along the trail, marking where they’d been and where they were going. Virgil shifted against Patton, sniffling at the newly chilly air. Were they going up the mountain? It didn’t feel like they were on an inclined plane… then again, it could be magic.

                Logan sighed after a few long minutes of silence, and he looked straight ahead of the carriage with a relieved expression. “Almost there.”

                Twisting in his seat uncomfortably, Virgil tried to ignore the way Patton giggled at his enthusiasm as he tried to spot the barrier around Ilvermorny. Against the ash-gray sky, he couldn’t see anything. But between the trees he could see the silvery, translucent wall of glimmering magic. It looked paper-thin and very pointless… there was nothing on the other side. The forest simply went on and on.

                “Not quite, kiddo,” Patton murmured gently. Virgil glanced at him, making a face at Patton’s sly wink. What did that mean? He turned back to the barrier. What was behind it?

                The feathered creatures pulling the carriage didn’t slow down as they approached the barrier. They didn’t even break their stride. They simply pulled the carriage through, and with a faint, glittering hiss, Virgil blinked at his surroundings.

                The barrier wasn’t just a decorative perimeter. It kept Non-Magical people from knowing just what was on the mountain. Once inside it, Virgil could see the entirety of an enormous school grounds. The snow of the mountain was gone. Lush, green grass stretched as far as the eye could see. Flags depicting a school emblem lined the path they traveled, and Virgil followed the trail all the way to an massive, stone structure.

                It wasn’t a school… it was a castle.

                As the carriage drew nearer to the wall that surrounded the school, Virgil caught sight of a figure waiting near the front gates. The person was alone, but seemed to be waiting for someone… or something. Sliding down in his seat, Virgil tried to act as inconspicuous as possible as they approached the stranger. When they were close enough, Virgil continued to cast glances at the person; a woman, it would seem. She wore long, silk robes, colored in bronze and gold. Her black hair was tied up in a formal bun, and though Virgil caught a look at her smile, it didn’t seem quite right. Like the smile wasn’t real. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

                He leaned into Patton before they were in earshot of the woman. “Who’s that?”

                Patton didn’t turn around, but he smiled thinly. “That’s our boss,” he answered simply as the carriage came to a stop. Before Virgil could ask anything else, Patton clambered out of the carriage and stepped up to the woman with a grin plastered to his face. “Patrice! It’s been too long!”

                Virgil watched as Patton spread his arms in invitation, and the woman’s fake smile never changed as she stepped into the embrace. Her eyes were dark and tired as she stared over Patton’s shoulder, barely touching him before they pulled apart to look each other in the eye.

                Logan climbed out of the carriage without urgency, removing the bags and setting them on the gravel trail quietly. He held his arms out to Virgil patiently, lifting him out of the carriage with a low grunt and setting him on the ground. For a moment, they simply stood next to the carriage, quiet and complacent as Patton held a one-way conversation with the woman.

                Logan's hands settled heavily on Virgil’s shoulders, holding him to reality as they watched Patton interact with the woman. Virgil half-wished they could have just ignored her. The gates were wide open. They should have just kept going… but now they were caught. Patton had made that clear when the carriage pulled to a stop. He seemed tense. Irritated. Maybe even uncomfortable. But he still made wild gestures as he spoke to her, and he still smiled politely when she sighed and looked away.

                Virgil frowned, picking at the inside of his cloak tiredly. The woman didn't seem to be listening very closely, if at all. She kept up her fake smile when Patton laughed and she nodded when he asked questions. Something about the woman was... different. Virgil couldn't tell what it was. But it was something. He glanced up at Logan, seeing a look of displeasure that matched Virgil’s mood.

                "She's the Principal of our faction of Ilvermorny," Logan said lowly as they stood back. Virgil glanced back over at Patton, and Logan adjusted his glasses. "Naroona J. Patrice. You should address her as 'ma'am.'"

                Nodding obediently, Virgil allowed himself to be towed along as Patton waved them over. Patton was still smiling, but it was strained, now. Tired of pretending. Virgil gave him a sympathetic look. Logan noticed Patton’s mood, too, and he took Patton's hand when they approached.

                “Patrice,” Logan said formally with a slight inclination of his head. “A pleasure as always.”

                Patrice’s smile widened, and Virgil gave her pearl-white teeth a sparing glance. Her eyes never softened once they settled on Logan. In fact, they looked sharper than ever. “The pleasure is mine, Logan. Always good to have the two of you back.” Her cutting gaze slowly slid to Virgil, and she let out an almost inaudible sigh. “ _You_ must be Virgil,” she murmured softly. Virgil almost flinched at the tone. It was nearly mocking. Patrice blinked slowly, her dark eyelashes fluttering against perfect cheekbones. “I’ve heard so many things about you, I feel like I already know you.”

                Patton gave a polite laugh, but Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to do the same. He stayed stoic, giving Patrice a small nod like Logan had given her. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

                Patrice’s smile faltered, but she gave Virgil a nod in return nonetheless. “And you, Virgil.” She gestured to the front gates, her eyes cold and distant as she smiled. “Please, come with me. We have much to discuss in my office.”

                When Virgil was younger, he was taken to the court house with Dahlia. He didn’t know it at the time, but he’d been signing his old life away and being prepared to move in with Dahlia. In retrospect, the building wasn’t as fantastic as he thought it was… but when he was little, it was enormous and terrifying. Stepping into Ilvermorny was a lot like walking into that courthouse.

                Inside the castle, the walls were lined with framed pictures of important figures, each of them had a plaque that described their service or accomplishments. The pictures, much like the ones in Logan and Patton’s hallway, moved ever so slightly. The people blinked and raised their chins proudly when Patrice and Virgil’s family walked down the smooth, marble floors. High ceilings were lit by large, hanging crystal chandeliers. Virgil gave them a careful look as they marched along; if one fell, it would shatter and kill them all. He pursed his lips when Patton frowned and gave him a concerned look. He tried to think of an apology, but Patton had already looked away. He’d apologize later.

                Up a flight of stairs, down a long, curving corridor, up a spiral staircase… by the time they reached Patrice’s office, Virgil’s arm was tired from carrying his duffle bag. He could only imagine how tired Logan and Patton were. Their bags were much heavier than his – they owned more than one set of casual clothing, and they had several books for their classes. Even so, they didn’t complain as Patrice opened her door and waved the trio inside.

                It was a large, oval space with an ornate wooden desk situated along the far wall. It sat in front of a large window that overlooked the entirety of Ilvermorny’s school grounds. Virgil set his bag on the floor, wringing his tired hands as Patrice leaned her hip against her desk.

                “Virgil,” she began stiffly. Virgil glanced up, meeting her cunning eyes. She smiled that fake smile again, and Virgil didn’t bother to smile back. She spoke again. “What spells have you studied thus far?”

                The train of Virgil’s thought jumped and slipped off the tracks, and when he opened his mouth, he floundered beneath his own anxiety. What had he learned? The protego event flash through his mind, hijacking his thoughts and distracting him. That wasn’t what he needed.

                He licked his lips and sputtered, “I… I know a few…”

                Patrice crossed her arms over her chest. “I expect you know ‘a few,’” her eyes slid over to Patton and Logan, and she flashed them her trademark smile. “I’m sure you’ve been teaching him the correct lessons, yes?”

                That was a loaded question, Virgil knew. It was very nearly rude. To Virgil’s surprise, Logan’s chest puffed out and he promptly raised his chin. He looked offended by her tone. Did she assume that Logan and Patton were unfit teachers? He watched as Logan came to his rescue while Patton bit his tongue.

                “Of course we have,” Logan spat defensively. “Virgil has shone extraordinary talent with potions and charms. His use of the flecarus charm was fully expressed perfectly on his second try, and his control of skill is remarkable when compared to his peers.” With an air of finality, Logan smoothed the front of his robes, adjusting the knot of his tie where it peeked through the collar of his cloak. “As a nationally-renowned educator, I will say this: Virgil is a commendable student, and I think his growth over the past few months is truly impressive.”

                Virgil blinked; Logan was nationally-renowned? Did that mean he traveled to the other factions of Ilvermorny to teach? Was Patton renowned, too? He glanced over to Patton, seeing the man flinch at his thoughts. Virgil looked away. Well… it seemed Patton was _not_ renowned. Why was that? They were both excellent teachers. They crammed a year of education into two months. Wasn’t that impressive?

                To Patrice, apparently, it wasn’t.

                She blinked tiredly. “That didn’t answer my question, Mr. Sanders.” Her gaze slipped over to Patton. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, Mr. Sanders.”

                Virgil frowned. Logan and Patton were _both_ ‘Mr. Sanders.’ And, by association, so was Virgil. This was confusing. But, Patton knew when he was being called out, and he smiled softly.

                “Apparition doesn’t agree with my stomach,” he smiled. “I’m not very talkative when I’m feeling queasy.”

                “Oh, that’s a shame. Does your stomach always still your tongue?” Patrice quirked an eyebrow. “Even when your sons’ education is on the line?”

                Patton’s eye twitched, and he straightened his glasses as Logan put a firm hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Was he supporting Virgil, or was he trying to keep himself in place? Virgil didn’t know.

                “I didn’t know we would be interrogated upon arrival,” Logan managed to grumble, regaining Patrice’s attention. She leaned back, crossing her legs at the ankle with a smile.

                “Interrogated? Mr. Sanders, I assure you,” she brushed a lock of long, dark hair behind her ear. “I am not interrogating. I am merely ensuring the education of a future student.” Her eyes landed on Virgil. “As a child raised by a No-Maj, he’s at a serious disadvantage to his peers.”

                Virgil shrank beneath the persecution. In many ways, she was right. His training and schooling was rushed. Even though he was encouraged at every move and praised endlessly, that was no guarantee he’d be able to keep up with his classmates. He thought back to the letter welcoming him to Ilvermorny… it had offered him a place with the other second-year students. Was that going to be rescinded?

                On Virgil’s left, Patton stiffened. “His acceptance letter invited him to attend second-year classes,” he smiled personably, but Virgil could see the irritated quirk of his lip. “I don’t understand why you’re being skeptical now, Ms. Patrice.”

                Logan hummed in agreement. “Yes. It would be dangerous for the school to go back on such a strict statement.” Patrice gave Logan a sharp look, but he didn’t back down. In fact, he gave a sly smile. “An invitation like that is a binding statement. Virgil _will_ attend his proper classes. After all,” Logan adjusted his glasses factually. “ _You_ invited him to do so.”

                Virgil felt an uncomfortable tension settle in the room as Patrice chewed on this new argument. Logan’s hand was still heavy on his shoulder, supportive and sure. Patton was uncharacteristically collected and withdrawn. His hands were behind his back, and he continued to give Patrice a tight-lipped smile as she mulled over the developing conversation.

                When she finally spoke, there was an edge in her voice. “I don’t want to subject Virgil to a sub-par educational experience. But,” she glanced between Logan and Patton, “If you believe he can indeed keep up with his peers, I have no further arguments.” Virgil almost let out a sigh of relief, but Patrice caught his breath with a simple word: “However… if he is to fall behind, I will take his best interests into my _own_ hands, and place him in the year that I deem fit for his abilities.”

                Though Logan’s hand tightened on Virgil’s shoulder, his face showed no sign of any changed emotion. He looked indifferent as he gave a nod. Patton nodded, too, but it was just a jerky shake of his head. With that, it seemed like the interaction was over. Virgil squinted; this was all she wanted? To question them on their teaching methods?

                Patrice turned her stare on Virgil, watching him intently until he met her eye. “I do wish you the best of luck in your studies, Virgil.”

                Virgil’s tongue felt like it was full of lead when he said, “Thank you…” he paused, then mumbled, “Thank you, ma’am.”

                Patrice smiled again – so cold, it didn’t even reach her eyes – and waved them all on their way. “We will have to get you sorted. But, you’ll need to be in your school robes for that… be on your way. Get settled in.” She turned to take a seat at her desk, leaning back in the plush chair with that omnipresent smile. “I’ll see the three of you in the sorting hall later this evening.”

                Patton’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he took up his luggage and headed for the door, not wasting any time. Logan and Virgil were quick to follow suit, gathering their bags and filing after Patton without saying a word. They almost made it out of the office without issue.

                Almost.

                Patrice spoke just as Patton opened the door. “Mr. Sanders,” she called, and Patton – poor, tired Patton – paused with his hand on the door handle. Patrice’s voice rang, hot and venomous in the air as she asked, “How have your _parents_ been?”

                Patton didn’t turn around as he murmured, “They’re fine.”

                Patrice hummed. “For No-Maj’s, they certainly did an excellent job on you.” There was no praise in this statement. Virgil could hear it in the words. He stood behind Logan, anxiously watching the way Patton gripped the handle of the old oak door. Patrice sighed, “That is all, Mr. Sanders.”

                Patton had slipped down the stairs and out of view before Logan had a chance to exit the office.

+++++

                “Agh! That… that _woman_!” Patton grumbled as he threw his bag onto a neatly made bed. Virgil sat in the armchair – Logan’s armchair, apparently – in their bedroom, watching as Patton started to pace the room. Logan was busy unpacking his own bag, giving Patton a sparing glance every so often. Patton wrung his hands in the air, still distraught. “The way she spoke to Virgil? The things she _said_? Oh! If I didn’t need this job…” He stopped his pacing, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _No one_ should talk to my child like that.”

                Bringing his legs up onto the cushion of the armchair, Virgil wrapped his arms around his legs and mumbled, “I’m fine, though… it’s not a big deal.”

                “It _is_ a big deal, Virgil!” Patton insisted, going back to pacing. “I should have… I should have said something while we were in there. I should have _said_ something.”

                “Patton, dearest,” Logan held his hands out in surrender, like he was trying to coax Patton off the ledge of his own towering thoughts. “It’s done. We can’t change what is in the past.” He straightened his glasses and sighed. “We should focus on how to carry on in the future. For example… Virgil will need to be sorted into a house this evening, and he’ll be placed into a dorm.”

                Virgil tightened his hold on his legs. Sorted into a house… he’d been told about this. Four different groups of people. Whichever he was placed in, the people were supposed to be somewhat like him. Virgil frowned at that idea; a dorm full of anxious, suspicious children? That didn’t sound like fun. It didn’t sound smart, either. Resting his chin atop his knee, Virgil sighed. He’d rather just stay with Logan and Patton and ignore the dorms altogether.

                Patton sighed, too, giving Virgil a sad look. “I wish you could stay, too… but maybe this will be good!” He tried to be reassuring, but the tension in his smile gave his unsureness away. “Maybe you’ll make some new friends!”

                Virgil shrugged. “I dunno… maybe? I slept in the same room with other kids at the orphanage, but I was never really friends with any of them.” He stared down at his school uniform pants bitterly. “I’m not good at making friends, anyway.”

                Patton seemed to be at a loss for words, but Logan jumped into the conversation. “That’s fine, Virgil. You should focus on your studies. When and if you decide to make friends and engage in social interaction, it will be completely your choice.”

                “If… _if_ he makes friends?” Patton sputtered, spreading his hands wide and smiling with enough force to crack his face in half. “Of course he’ll make friends! He’s a real social-savant!”

                Logan’s brow furrowed. “That’s… an interesting way to use that word. And, untrue. No offense intended toward Virgil, of course.”

                Virgil shrugged. “None taken.” He had no idea what ‘savant’ meant, anyway.

                Heaving a dramatic sigh, Patton fell forward onto his and Logan’s bed. He grumbled something into the blankets, but when Logan’s face crumbled in confusion, Patton lifted his face and repeated, “I don’t want to take Virgil to get sorted. Naroona is a bully.”

                Virgil wiggled his toes. “Do I _have_ to get sorted? I could just hang out and… not go to the dorms.”

                Logan was quick to shut that down. “No. It’s required for each student of Ilvermorny to be sorted. It’s tradition. Every other student has gone through the process.” He stowed his now empty suitcase under the bed before he stood up to give Virgil a look. “It shouldn’t be frightening in the least.”

                “I’m not scared,” Virgil lied. “I just don’t wanna do it.”

                Still lying on the bed, Patton rolled over onto his back and sighed, “This is stressful. You boys think so loud.”

                “Sorry,” Logan and Virgil mumbled in unison. They looked at each other, almost amused, but tension still lingered in the air. None of them wanted to leave the safety of Logan and Patton’s personal room. None of them wanted to go to the sorting hall.

                Mostly, none of them wanted to see Naroona Patrice.

                That didn’t stop Patton from being the responsible parent and dragging both of them out of the room. Logan was unreasonably slow in their trek down the halls, pointing out which classrooms Virgil would have to locate and which ones he should avoid.

                “Your upperclassmen will be attending classes on down this hallway,” Logan said as they passed a long, dimly lit corridor. Virgil stayed close to Patton, only giving the hall a quick glance before looking away. Logan pointed out a door coming up on their left. “On the left would be the transfiguration classrooms… you may see Patton in that room from time to time.”

                Patton let out a dreamy sigh. “Aw, I wish I could’ve been the transfiguration teacher! That course was a heck ton of fun.” He gave Virgil a glimmering smile. “Maybury, the main transfiguration teacher, is an old friend from college. She lets me come and play lab assistant sometimes.”

                Virgil nodded, tugging at the blue school robes of Ilvermorny. Patton had taught him so much already… in Virgil’s eyes, he could probably teach anything he wanted. Charms, arithmancy, magical creatures… the sky was the limit.

                Patton laughed at that thought. “Oh, that’s so sweet! Thank you, Virgil.”

                Logan glanced at them, confused, but didn’t ask any questions. They kept winding their way through the halls. Logan pointed out the potions room, a large lecture hall for arithmancy, and the cozy classroom in which Patton would be teaching him his second year of charms. As they continued through the halls, Virgil watched Patton’s expression slowly go from casual enjoyment to a crumbling, shadowed frown. They must’ve been getting close to Patrice.

                Right on cue, Logan came to a stop in front of a set of double doors. Patton was slow to stop with him, standing behind Virgil with a strained smile. Virgil glanced up at him, biting the inside of his cheek as they stood, collectively hesitant.

                “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Virgil,” Patton said gently. His voice didn’t match his face, but Virgil didn’t say anything about it. Patton heard the thought, and forced a smile on his face. “You’ll be fine!”

                “Of course he will be,” Logan said stiffly. A hand landed on Virgil’s shoulder, warm and supportive. Virgil glanced up at Logan, eyes wide and unsure. Logan gave him a stern nod. “This school is here to teach and protect you, Virgil. We cannot go with you, but… I know that you will be alright.”

                The double doors swung open, revealing a large, round room. Patrice stood to the right side, pointedly looking at the four statues at the head of the room. Virgil followed her line of sight. A serpent, a cat-like creature, a bird, and some sort of goblin… were those his choices?

                Placing a hand on Virgil’s back, Patton’s voice was soft as he said, “The house chooses you, Virgil. Not the other way around.”

                Before Virgil could ask more, Patrice turned to face him. A cold burst slammed into his nerves, running ice through his veins and leaving his heart shivering. But he didn’t back down. He met her glare with his own, dropping his chin and watching her through the sweeping cut of his bangs. Fear was something he was accustomed to. Patrice would have to try harder to scare him.

                Patton gave his back a proud pat. “That’s my boy.”

                Taking that as his invitation, Virgil stepped into the sorting room, eyeing Patrice the entire time. She said nothing. She didn’t even move. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, head held high and eyes rough and jagged. When the double doors started to swing shut, Virgil’s head whipped around to see Logan’s clenched jaw and Patton’s wobbly smile. They made no move to jump in and save him… why would they? They said he would be safe. Virgil blinked… what if he wasn’t safe?

                What if Patrice did something to him, and neither Logan nor Patton came to his rescue?

                At that thought, Patton startled and started to reach for Virgil, his eyes going wide with panic. He didn’t even make a half-step forward when the doors slammed shut. Virgil swallowed, turning around to face Patrice once more. Her eyes were narrowed and observant. Virgil huffed.

                “You seem nervous, Virgil, but I promise… you’ll be just fine.” Patrice waved him forward, but Virgil remained by the door. He still didn’t trust her. She knew it, too. With a grand sweep of her arm, she gestured to the statues. “You can’t possibly be chosen if you stand all the way over there. Please,” her smile was too straight. Her teeth were too white. Her eyes were too emotionless. “Step forward.”

                Taking slow, shuffling steps, Virgil approached the statues, fidgeting with the cuff of his long, billowing sleeves. The statues were all turned away from him and facing the wall. Did he have to walk around to the other side? When he made it to the center of the room, Patrice finally spoke again.

                “You seem very dependent on them,” she said softly. Virgil stopped walking, giving the older woman a confused look. She cocked her head to the side with that empty, uncaring smile. “Your fathers. You are very attached to them.”

                Virgil glanced between the statues and the Principal uncomfortably. What was he supposed to say to that? Was it some sort of trick question? A test of some kind? Patton and Logan had told him about the sorting. They’d told him that each student would go to the room… and they would be sorted. Was this how it happened? Uncomfortable questions and awkward statues?

                Patrice’s voice cut through the silence again. “With such heavy dependency on others, you cannot really be considered a Thunderbird.”

                Virgil jumped as one statue – the bird – was suddenly shrouded in shadow. Three remained. He looked back to Patrice, feeling anxiety trickle through his bloodstream as she stared at him.

                “You did not speak up for yourself in my office,” she purred, sounding almost sympathetic as she smiled at him. “You are not a Wampus.”

                Another statue – the cat, this time – was bathed in darkness. Virgil had expected it this time, and only gave the statue a subtle glance before turning back to Patrice. Was she trying to scare him? Or was this just how the sorting was supposed to go? He clenched and unclenched his fits, trying to force himself into a calm state of mind. It didn’t work.

                Patrice held a finger to her chin, feigning deep thought. “How interesting; your last remaining houses are the Horned Serpent… and the Pukwudgie.” She ran a long, gold-painted fingernail across her lower lip before murmuring, “What a coincidence that your choices are the same as your parent’s houses. Logan was a Horned Serpent. Patton was a Pukwudgie.” Her eyes glinted dangerously in the half-light of the room, glancing over at the two remaining statues. “Which one will favor you?”

                Virgil hesitated as he looked at the statues. Did he have a choice? Even if he did… was this about the houses, or was this something else? The way Patrice spoke, it made it sound like he was choosing between Logan and Patton. Virgil chewed his lower lip; he didn’t want to choose between them. He liked both of them. They were… Virgil’s mind went blank. What were they? His parents? His fathers? He didn’t know if he could call them that yet. Something in his stomach still clenched at the idea of getting too attached. Something told him it wouldn’t last.

                But… even so, they meant something to him. Both of them. They were his family. The first real family he’d ever had. He couldn’t choose between them.

                There was a slow, soft, grinding sound as the two statues, the Serpent and the Pukwudgie, turned to face Virgil. They stood proudly on their pedestals, watching him with matching pairs of glowing, golden eyes. Virgil felt his heart warm. _Both_ had turned. _Both_ were choosing him. Just like Patton and Logan. Against the wall, Patrice hummed thoughtfully.

                “Interesting, but not unusual,” she said, mostly to herself. Her voice rang hollow and unimportant in Virgil’s ears, but she spoke either way. “You can only choose one house, Virgil.”

                Virgil frowned and turned to look at Patrice. “No.”

                For a moment, Patrice was silent, standing back against the wall with her gilded fingers tapping restlessly against her forearm. This went on for several long seconds. It almost felt like a staring contest. Virgil wasn’t sure he was winning until Patrice finally broke and asked, “What?”

                “I don’t want to choose,” Virgil grumbled, not daring to break eye contact. “I want to be both.”

                Patrice’s fingers stopped drumming. “You cannot be in more than one house. It is against school rules.”

                Where he had once been confident, Virgil started to flounder. He _had_ to choose. He desperately looked at the statues, trying to figure out which was fit him best. Horned Serpent, like Logan? He was smart, efficient, and prideful. Virgil wanted that confidence… but he also wanted Patton’s compassion. He wanted that soft, sure, comforting presence. He wanted to be someone they would be proud to call their son… but which house was that?

                Stepping forward, Virgil gave the statues a closer look. The Horned Serpent was curled around itself in an intricate set of knots, complex and intimidating. Thought-provoking. The Pukwudgie stood with a bow and arrow in hand, raised and poised for the strike. Ready to defend. Virgil pursed his lips. He didn’t want to be thought-provoking. He didn’t want people to look at him. But… he wanted to defend his family. He wanted to be strong enough that Logan and Patton wouldn’t have to come to his rescue with Patrice ever again. He wanted to help. He wanted to soothe.

                Virgil reached out a hand, touching the pedestal of the Pukwudgie gently. The Horned Serpent’s eyes ceased their glow, and the sound of grinding stone filled the room as the statue turned its back on Virigl, facing the wall once more. The Pukwudgie stood tall, tucking its bow close to its chest as it looked straight into Virgil’s eyes. Virgil blinked, feeling something strange flicker in his chest. Not pride. Not happiness. But… _something_.

                The double doors swung open with a long, low _creak_ , and Virgil turned to see Logan and Patton standing in the hall, waiting for him. They smiled when they saw him. They looked relieved. Virgil smiled, too. He ran out of the room and into Patton’s waiting arms, pressing himself tight against his parent. Patton could only stumble back and laugh.

                “Well, this is sudden! I’m glad to see you, too!” Patton’s hand passed through Virgil’s hair – Virgil loved it when he did that – and he chuckled when Virgil held on tight. “Everything go okay in there?”

                “I chose Pukwudgie,” he said into Patton’s soft, gray robes. Patton continued to pet his hair, but there was a shivery, excited tremble in his hands. He was proud. He was happy Virgil chose his house. Virgil smiled… and then he stopped.

                What about Logan?

                Leaning back, he took a moment to assess Logan’s mood. To his surprise, Logan wasn’t even looking at him. Virgil would be surprised if Logan even knew what house he’d chosen. No… Logan wasn’t paying attention. He was busy gazing into the sorting room. Far off to the right, his eyes were stuck on Naroona Patrice. It wasn’t a glare… but it wasn’t a friendly look either.

                Slipping out of Patton’s arms – he could feel the way Patton squeezed his shoulder reassuringly – Virgil walked over to Logan and tugged his sleeve. After a slow, hazy blink, Logan turned away from the sorting room and looked down at Virgil.

                “Well?” He asked, as if he hadn’t been staring at Patrice. “To what house will we send you?”

                Virgil hesitated. “Pukwudgie,” he murmured, seeing the way Logan’s eyes glimmered.

                But it wasn’t with disappointment or irritation… it was _pride_. Logan was smiling. Virgil blinked. He’d seen that look on Logan’s face many times before in the past two months. When Virgil completed an arithmancy spell or concocted a perfect brew… he would smile just like that. His eyes would shine just so, and Logan would always say: “Well done, Virgil.”

                Right on cue, Logan placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a short, approving nod. “Very good, Virgil. I think I always knew that you’d be a Pukwudgie.”

                He knew? Virgil wrinkled his nose. What was that supposed to mean? Patton came to his rescue, stepping close to the two of them and grinning ear-to-ear.

                “You’ve always tried to make things better. You take on problems that aren’t your own, and you try to fix them.” Patton adjusted his glasses and said, “You’re a healer, kiddo. I always knew you were.”

                Virgil pursed his lips. “I don’t _feel_ like a healer.”

                Patton threw an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and let out a long-suffering sigh. “I didn’t either, when I was your age.”

                “Well, you were a special case, Patton.” Logan’s expression was suddenly soft when he said, “I don’t think you realized how much you did for people.”

                “Aw, Lo!” Patton’s voice was high-pitched and sweet when he reached over and pulled Logan into a hug. This resulted in Virgil being pressed between the two of them awkwardly. But, much to his own surprise, he simply laughed and tried to push the two of them away. Patton only smooshed them together a little more forcefully. “Logan! You’re getting all sweet on me!”

                “I believe I might be, darling.” Logan said softly. With Patton and Logan’s arms both around him, Virgil didn’t stand a chance of getting away. He groaned and tried to wriggle out of their hold, but Patton only laughed, and the sound made their strange little huddle shake with joy.

                When Patton and Logan kissed over his head, Virgil made a point to dramatically shout, “Gross!” before finally managing to duck his way out of the group hug.

                Patton and Logan didn’t mind. Patton continued to laugh while Logan adjusted his glasses and tried to rub away the flush in his cheeks. It didn’t work. Virgil loved this.

                He loved the warmth that came with them wherever he went. Virgil loved the sure, safe feeling they seemed to emit when they were close to him. He never wanted it to end. And when he saw Naroona J. Patrice step out of the sorting room, Virgil didn’t bother giving her a second-glance. She disappeared down the hall, leaving Virgil to be with his parents in peace.

                It seemed almost anticlimactic, watching her slink down the hall with those copper robes trailing behind her. But when Patton started to talk about how excited he was for Virgil to settle into his dorm, Virgil’s attention was drawn away from the principal. Logan was going through the rules and regulations of the dorms, strictly telling Virgil about his new curfew, and Virgil… he drank in every word.

                He was terrified to be without his parents. He was afraid of the thought that in a days’ time, the castle would be filled with other students. Even so… he smiled. He nodded when Patton asked if he was excited. He took Logan’s advice on remembering the dorm password. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves… he was scared, but he had already stared down the Principal of Ilvermorny.

                If he could do that, he could handle a few wizarding classes.

+++++

                The halls were filled with people, shoulder to shoulder and eyes peering in every direction… it was a slow, shuffling march that lead them all in different directions. It was a low, steady hum of thought and speech, brought to life in the exuberant faces of young children and the tired, knowing expressions of knowledgeable teenagers.

                Virgil stood in the middle of it all, watching as Ilvermorny’s halls were filled with strangers, old and young alike, each going about their school day without a care in the world. Virgil leaned back against the wall, holding his potions textbook to his chest as he watched other students filter past him, completely unaware of his presence.

                He wish it was Logan teaching him potions instead of a stranger… but wishes were not reality, and Virgil was left standing outside his potions class with a frown on his face. He would have Defense against the Dark Arts with Logan later in the day, after his Arithmancy class and then Charms with Patton. Virgil held his books tight in his hands, scratching at the binding with trembling hands. He could make it through a few classes. Just two classes filled with strangers, and then he’d be safe with Logan and Patton again.

                Pushing himself away from the wall, Virgil turned the corner and walked through the door of his potions class. There were several long, tall tables spread through the room. Cauldrons with winding tubes were set on the tabletops, and Virgil worried his lower lip as he found a seat near the back, far from the chalkboard at the head of the room. Luckily, as more students entered the room, they all recognized each other and sat with friends. That left Virgil by himself. He was fine with that.

                At least, he would have been if he wasn’t recognized by _one_ person.

                “You!” A young, boisterous voice announced to the room. Virgil’s eyes snapped up from the table, turning to see Roman Prince standing in the doorway. He was pointing accusingly at Virgil, as if Virgil was some sort of dastardly villain and Roman had been hunting him down for years. Virgil made a face at Roman’s wide eyes. What did _he_ want? That question was answered when Roman exclaimed, “I know you! You’re the No-Maj kid!”

                Several other students were staring at Roman, and a few of them even laughed. Virgil ducked his head as his face started to burn; he did _not_ want this kind of attention on his first day. He looked away from the other students, opening his textbook and pretending to read something while other students crowded around Roman and began to whisper questions. Virgil could feel them looking at him. Judging him. He was ‘the No-Maj kid’ now.

                Virgil could hear one girl ask, “If he’s a No-Maj, how is he here?”

                Roman was loud and factual as he said, “Oh, _he’s_ not a No-Maj. He was _raised_ by No-Majs.” He puffed out his chest proudly, and Virgil glared at him as he said, “My father told me _all_ about it.”

                As a slow, clanging bell rang loudly through the halls of Ilvermorny, students began to scramble for their seats. Virgil silently grimaced at Roman – who took a seat in the first row – as the teacher stepped into the room with a grand flourish of her arm.

                “Welcome back, everyone! It’s good to see your faces in Ilvermorny’s hallowed halls once more,” the teacher said with a warm smile. Virgil immediately perked up. She was _really_ smiling, unlike Patrice. This woman reminded him of Patton with the way she smiled and greeted a few students she knew by name. With a wave of her wand, a piece of chalk floated into the air and began to write out Mrs. Clemms on the board in looping, bubbly script. “I’m Mrs. Clemms, your potions instructor. When I call your name, please make sure to raise your hand!”

                Virgil remembered taking attendance at the public schools Dahlia sent him to… and he remembered being nervous when his name was called. Adrian Braxt, Terrance Cullwell, Damian Curt… Virgil had used Dahlia’s last name when he was in a No-Maj school. But not anymore. Now he was Virgil Sanders, and he was still getting used to it. Sadie Hampen, Morgan Juirk, Patricia Johnson… Virgil had to listen carefully or he’d miss it. _No one_ missed Roman’s name being called.

                “Roman Prince?”

                Roman shot up in his seat, his hand raised high as he announced, “Present!”

                Virgil rolled his eyes as the other students giggled at Roman’s exuberance. How could one person have so much confidence? He sat down when Mrs. Clemms praised his excitement, beaming with pride. They continued down the list, Agetha Quirtz, Simon Rhymes, Johnathan Rupert…

                Mrs. Clemms smiled a little softer when she said, “Virgil Sanders?”

                Virgil raised his hand a bit, trying to keep a low-profile. Roman didn’t let that happen.

                Roman shot out of his seat again, mouth agape as he said, “Like the Charms teacher?”

                Thirty pairs of eyes turned to examine Virgil, all curious and eager to know why Virigl, ‘the No-Maj kid,’ had the same last name as their beloved instructor. When murmurs began to fill the room, Virgil shrunk down in his seat, avoiding any and all eye contact. Mrs. Clemms brought order to the room, clapping her hands until all the voices had quieted.

                “All right, that’s enough…” Mrs. Clemms smiled, “Yes, Roman. Virgil is Mr. Sanders’ son.”

                “No!” Roman said quickly, making Mrs. Clemms blink spastically. “He was raised by a No-Maj. My father told me so. Mr. Sanders isn’t a No-Maj! And you can totally tell,” Roman leaned over to stage-whisper to another student as he pointed a thumb at Virgil, “ _He_ is _totally_ not the wizarding-family type.”

                Virgil bit his lip. Too many people were looking at him. People were _laughing_ at him. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to fall through the floor and never come back. He wanted to Roman to _shut up_. Mrs. Clemms struggled to keep the classroom quiet as she shook her head and tapped her wand against her desk, trying to maintain order.

                “Enough! That’s enough, everyone settle down. Mr. Prince,” she gave Roman a sharp look. “You’re being very rude.”

                Roman puffed out his chest and crossed his arms. “But my father said –”

                “Your father must be misinformed. Mr. Sanders is a _very_ good friend,” Mrs. Clemms said sternly, “And I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate you bullying his son.”

                The classroom was awash with muttering once more, and Roman deflated a little. That made Virgil smile a little. Mrs. Clemms was on his side. Roman, however, didn’t seem to want to back down. In fact, he pushed the subject, turning in his seat to glare directly at Virgil.

                “If you’re _really_ Mr. Sanders’ son, why weren’t you in school last year?”

                Virgil stiffened. How was he supposed to explain that? He didn’t want to talk about the orphanage. He didn’t want to say _anything_ to Roman. It was none of his or anyone’s business. He wanted all of this to stop… he wanted everyone to _stop looking at him._

                Mrs. Clemms looked visibly shaken as she tried to shush the front row. “Mr. Prince, that’s enough. Please sit in your seat properly, and –”

                Roman didn’t turn around. He met Virgil’s eyes with a burning passion. Virgil glared back at him. The nosy brat. Who did he think he was? He was ruining everything. Virgil just wanted to learn. He just wanted to make Logan and Patton proud. Roman was _wrecking_ everything.

                “Huh? How come?” Roman was leaning back in his chair, goading Virgil along with the snickers and giggles of the girls in the front row. “Why weren’t you in class, _Virgil_? Was it because you couldn’t use magic? Was it because your No-Maj parents didn’t let you come?”

                Mrs. Clemms came around Roman’s desk and pushed him back into place, giving him a stern look as she said, “I said _that’s enough_.” Roman’s little friends all quieted themselves, casting glances at Virgil over their shoulder as they continued to whisper to each other. None of them dared to look at Mrs. Clemms. Least of all Virgil. She returned to her desk and opened her textbook. “I will not tolerate bullies in my classroom. Is that understood?” No one replied. “Good. Let’s begin our lesson, shall we?”

                She announced a page number. Everyone opened their books. Virgil sat quietly, frowning at his lap. He didn’t hear whatever Mrs. Clemms said. He wasn’t listening to the questions she asked. His hands shook. He was angry. Beyond angry. He was furious. He’d never felt so upset in his life. Why was Roman doing this to him? Why was he so _mean?_

                Without saying anything, Virgil stood up in the middle of the lesson. He left his books at his desk and walked to the door. Mrs. Clemms told him, “Wait, Virgil! We're in the middle of class!” but Virgil didn’t listen. He slipped out of the room and into the hall, winding his way through Ilvermorny until something looked familiar. It took longer than expected. His eyes kept getting blurry. He rubbed them, feeling hot tears dampen his sleeves, but he didn’t care. He was too angry to be bothered.

                When he came to a stop, it was in front of a door he didn’t recognize. That didn’t matter. The voice behind the door was the thing that stopped him on his journey. Patton’s voice was smooth and calm as he explained some sort of charm. He described some sort of energy that flowed through the wand, the properties that made up the movement of the spell… Virgil opened the door.

                “… and that’s why we use the -- Virgil?” Patton stood at the head of the room, looking over at Virgil with wide, curious eyes. “Well, this is a surprise! Class, this is my son, Virgil.”

                While several of the students turned to greet Virgil with wide smiles and a few people even said, “Hi!” but it didn’t make Virgil feel any better. He just gave the class a tired look. All of the students were older than him. Much older. Were they sixth years? Maybe seventh? He didn’t bother to ask. He looked back to Patton, seeing that familiar, concerned look on his face.

                “You… you’re supposed to be in class, buddy.” Patton cocked his head to the side curiously. “What’s wrong?”

                Virgil stepped into the room, making his way past the rows of unfamiliar students. A few of them muttered something to each other. A few commented on the way he was crying. A few simply watched with worried eyes. Did they know what he felt? Had some of them been subjected to the same situations? No doubt many of them had. He couldn't be the only kid who was raised by a No-Maj.

                Patton met Virgil halfway through the rows of desks, kneeling down and holding Virgil’s hands. “Sweetheart, you…” his expression crumbled as he held Virgil’s hands, scanning his face for an explanation. Virgil hiccupped, too upset to save face. Patton pulled him into a hug, holding him close as the students murmured their sympathies. Patton’s voice was so, so soft as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Virgil. I’ll… I’ll talk to Clemms. You're so brave for coming to find me... We’ll get this fixed. He shouldn’t have said those things. I love you, Virgil. _I’m sorry_.”

                Virgil sniffled and shook his head. There wasn’t a way to really fix it. Roman had done the damage. Everyone knew he was weird. He was still the odd one out no matter where he went. Patton held him tighter as Virgil sobbed into his shoulder.

                One girl leaned over in her chair to ask if Virgil was alright. She offered to take him to the nurse. Patton shook his head, petting Virgil’s hair gently. “It’s just… just a tough first day.”

                Several students grumbled their condolences. A few of them even turned to their neighbors and explained their terrible first days of wizarding school. Maybe they were trying to comfort him. Maybe they wanted him to feel like he wasn’t alone. It was nice… but Virgil didn’t think about that. At that moment, there was only one thing on his mind:

                He _hated_ Roman Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> See you next chapter.


	6. Frozen in the Aftermath of Fire

                Patton sat Virgil down in the front row of his class with a smile and a pat to his head. There was a hint of pity in his voice as he said, “I’m not one for skipping class, but I’ll make an exception today. We’ll go talk to Clemms together after class, ‘kay?”

Virgil nodded even though he was anxious to stay in the room full of older students. They all looked so much stronger and experienced… they probably thought he was a stupid little kid. He glanced at the girls he’d been sat next to, feeling a wave of relief when they smiled at him. He didn’t like the idea of being somewhere new, but he knew he’d stay. He would do _anything_ if it meant he didn’t have to go back to class with Roman. Patton made a face at that thought, but stood up with a cheerful clap of his hands.

                “Alright! Now that that’s settled,” he pulled his wand out of his sleeve and gestured to the chalkboard. Three pieces of chalk floated into the air, each one writing its own point as Patton spoke clearly and concisely. “There are three common reasons we use the protego charm over other defensive spells – please take notes, this _will_ be on your first exam – the first reason…”

                Virgil watched in wonder as Patton launched into a lecture. Even when they’d been at home, Patton hadn’t been so serious. He was always smiling and giggling with Virgil about how _silly_ spell names were. Now he was describing the Latin roots with flawless pronunciation and incredible diction.

                Glancing around the room, Virgil saw each student hunched over a notebook, glancing up at the chalkboard every few seconds before ducking down to copy the notes. They hung on Patton’s every word, and when Virgil glanced at the notebook of the girl next to him, he noticed that she was even taking note of Patton’s wand movements. Was that a diagram? Virgil bit his lip. Surely, his own class wouldn’t be as complex, but he’d have to be careful about what he missed.

                Virgil blinked. He _was_ missing something. He was missing his first day of potions. Anxiety welled up in his chest, bubbling up until his throat felt tight and his chest felt numb. He chewed on his lip as he glanced at Patton – he wanted comfort, but Patton was lecturing. Should he leave? Find Logan? No, he couldn’t. Virgil frowned at the oak surface of the desk. Logan was teaching a class, too. He couldn’t interrupt _both_ of them. Patton was probably already irritated that Virgil was there in the first place. Virgil slumped in his chair as Patton paced at the head of the room.

                Patton was probably disappointed in him. He was already ditching a class on his first day. Patton and Logan thought so highly of him… they’d defended him so readily in front of Patrice. And now, it seemed like Patrice was right. Maybe Virgil _wasn’t_ ready. Maybe he wasn’t good enough for wizarding school. Opening his hands, Virgil stared at his palms sadly. Roman was right. He was a No-Maj kid. He wasn’t meant to be part of the ‘Wizarding World.’ He just didn’t fit. He –

                “Virgil!” Patton said suddenly. Virgil snapped himself out of his thoughts, looking up to see Patton’s eyes on him. Had he been thinking too loud? Patton quirked an eyebrow. That was a ‘yes.’ Virgil shifted in his seat nervously. The entire class was looking at him. What was he supposed to say? Patton tapped the board with his wand, and Virgil glanced at it. “You attempted the protego charm, right?”

                Virgil squirmed when a few students murmured to each other. “Yeah?”

                Patton nodded thoughtfully, as if this was a topic he didn’t mind sharing. “And it was _very_ difficult, wasn’t it?” Virgil nodded, earning a few more interesting murmurs rippling through the classroom. Patton smiled warmly. “It is a spell that is not to be taken lightly. It requires an immense amount of focus and control. Someday,” he gave Virgil a wink. “In a few years, you can try it again. As for everyone else, please take out your wands! We can,” Patton waved his wand fancifully, “Give it a whirl!”

                A few of the other students laughed at Patton’s exuberance, but most students were already out of their seats, facing each other and choosing different parts of the classroom to practice. Patton stood by the board, watching over his students like a proud mother hen. And Virgil… Virgil simply sat at the desk. He couldn’t practice with the others. He couldn’t go back to Clemms. He was stuck.

                While he moped in his seat, Patton sauntered over to kneel next to Virgil. Patton looked up at him with those big, hazel eyes and his warm smile. Virgil couldn’t help but give a small smile in response.

                “You’re different when you teach,” Virgil said softly. Patton cocked his head to the side, almost looking like a confused puppy. Virgil smiled a little wider and pointed to the chalkboard. “You were, like… _serious_.”

                Patton laughed at that, standing up and giving Virgil’s hair a pat. “Well, sometimes you gotta be serious for people to listen to you.” His smile abruptly disappeared, and Patton turned to point at two boys in the corner, saying with a low, fatherly tone, “Boys, this is _not_ Defense Against the Dark Arts. No offensive spells!” One of the boys opened his mouth to explain, but Patton held up a hand to silence him. “Nuh-uh. Don’t you sass me, Sampson. Let’s focus on the lesson.”

                Virgil huffed a laugh while Sampson and his partner bashfully went back to practicing. _That_ was he Patton he knew. The warm, comforting, father-figure he was always meant to be. With a promise that he’d be back to take him to Clemms, Patton went around the room, making sure that each student was given a chance to properly test the spell.

                To Virgil’s surprise, a few of them had similar results to _his_ first attempt. A blond boy went stumbling back into a few desks, accompanied by the raucous laughter of his friends. They unanimously decided to recreate the accident, and the boy went flying back several feet. Patton laughed with them, helping the volunteer ragdoll up from the floor, checking for any injuries. Virgil quirked an eyebrow. They didn’t care that they made a mistake. They _laughed_ about it. Maybe Virgil should have laughed back then… maybe Logan and Patton wouldn’t have fought. Then again – Virgil frowned at the thought – he was thrown back _much_ farther than a few feet.

                Virgil watched passively, fiddling with the cuffs of his school robes. Would he be strong like that, someday? Would he be able to laugh at his mistakes instead of wishing he were buried alive? He wanted to be strong like that. He didn’t want to be ‘the No-Maj kid.’ He wanted to be a wizarding-family kid. He wanted to be personable. He wanted to make Logan and Patton proud. He wanted… Virgil sunk in his chair with a huff.

                He wanted to be Roman Prince. With all of his friends and his natural-born talent and charisma. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t confident or outgoing. He was a worrier… and constantly playing-it-safe. Virgil pursed his lips, glancing around the room. Maybe he just had to _grow_ into his confidence, like the older students. When he was more experienced, then he would be happier. Right?

                The class came to a close with Patton congratulating and praising his students for their hard work, telling them to read the first two chapters of their textbooks, and sending them on their way. He met Virgil at his seat, placing his hand on Virgil’s shoulder and smiling at him warmly.

                “Let’s go pick up your stuff,” Patton said softly. “And go talk to Clemms.”

                The walked the halls together quietly, weaving through the throngs of students with little difficulty. Patton’s hand remained stationed on Virgil’s shoulder, keeping track of him in the bustling halls… but it only made Virgil feel trapped. He felt like he was being _forced_ into talking to Clemms. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Roman had humiliated him in front of the class, and, like a child throwing a tantrum, Virgil had run away. He frowne as they rounded the corner that lead to his Potions classroom.

                He didn’t want to go in.

                “Tough luck, kiddo,” Patton said sternly. Virgil looked up at Patton, seeing the knowing glint behind his glasses. “Sometimes you’ve gotta meet your challenge head-on instead of avoiding them. If we talk to her _now_ , it might keep this from happening again in the future.” He smiled hopefully, but Virgil didn’t smile back. He only glanced at the open doorway as Patton said, “Doesn’t that sound good?”

                Shrugging loosely, Virgil stood back as Patton stepped through the doorway, tugging Virgil along behind him. At the head of the room, Mrs. Clemms was busy wiping down the chalkboard. When she saw Patton, her eyes went wide, and she gave him a sorry smile.

                “Patton,” she started softly. “We need to talk.”

                Patton nodded with a smile, giving Virgil’s shoulder a pat. “I think we do. But first,” he glanced at Virgil. “Is there something you’d like to say to Mrs. Clemms?”

                Virgil grasped at the soft fabric of his school robes, ducking his chin as he murmured, “I’m sorry I left in the middle of class.”

                Mrs. Clemms didn’t mind the softness – or perhaps in the insincerity – behind the words. She simply gave Virgil a thankful nod. “I understand _why_ you did it… I just wish you hadn’t needed to leave.” Her green eyes landed on Patton, full of apologies left unspoken. “I tried to get them to stop, but… you know how kids are.”

                Patton’s hand gripped Virgil’s shoulder until it became uncomfortable. Virgil squirmed, and the grip lessened. Patton was still smiling when he spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes… I do.” He leaned down to kiss Virgil’s hair – much to Virgil’s embarrassment – and gave Virgil a hearty pat on the back. “Well… you’d better getting going. I’m going to talk to Clemms a little more about… what happened.” His smile gave nothing away as he waved Virgil toward the doorway. “Grab your books and hop to it, mister! You don’t want to be late.” Before Virgil should slip out of his hold, Patton turned Virgil and cupped his face, meeting his eyes with a level gaze. “Remember… you’re my son. And I am _very_ proud of you. You know that, right?”

                Virgil nodded shakily. “I know,” he lied. It was still a surprised every time Virgil heard it.

                “Good.” Patton smiled and released him. “Now make like a bunny and _hop_ to it.”

                Skittering for the back row, Virgil gathered his notebook and textbooks, watching carefully and Clemms and Patton drew together, speaking in low, rushed whispers. Patton looked angry, but he didn’t shout. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly scolding Clemms. The woman ducked her head, trying to explain herself, but it looked like Patton wasn’t listening. He continued to hiss his disapproval as Virgil slipped out of the classroom and into the hall.

                He sighed and went back through his mental map of Ilvermorny, trying to remember where his transfiguration class was held. Walking the halls with groups of unfamiliar people, Virgil found his mind wandering back to Patton and Clemms… were they arguing, now? Was Virgil going to be in a lot of trouble for leaving in the middle of class? Was Patton making things better… or was he making them worse? The thoughts made Virgil’s stomach churn unhappily as he walked into a lecture hall, recognized some of his fellow students, and took a seat in the back row. Hopefully, things couldn’t get any worse from that moment onward.

                He was rudely corrected when Roman’s familiar voice drifted into the room. Roman stepped over the threshold with a grin on his face and several of his friends in tow. The group collectively stopped when they spotted Virgil, and a few of them leaned in to whisper something to Roman. Virgil tried to ignore it. He needed to focus on his class. He couldn’t leave _another_ one. He needed to take the high road and rise above Roman’s teasing.

                At least, that was the plan. And it worked for a few minutes… until Roman laughed and stage-whispered to one of his friends, “I _know,_ right? He doesn’t even _look_ like a wizard!”

                Pivoting in his chair, Virgil glared at Roman and his toadies. “ _What_ is your problem?”

                Roman blinked spastically, as if the outburst had come from nowhere. “I don’t have a problem,” he said evenly, hoisting his books up in his right hand and putting his left hand on his hip. “You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing. What’s _your_ problem?”

                Virgil bit the inside of his cheek. This was stupid. He shouldn’t have said anything. Even so, something burned in his chest as he grumbled, “You’re being a jerk.”

                “I’m just stating a fact!” Roman laughed, and his friends all giggled with him. Virgil grimaced, and Roman shrugged. “You’re different. My father told me –”

                “Your _dad_ is a jerk,” Virgil interrupted crudely.

                Roman went quiet. His friends were silent, looking between each other uneasily as Roman mulled this new information. For a moment, Virgil almost regretted saying it. But when he saw the way Roman’s cheeks started to stain a dark, unhappy red, Virgil felt triumph well in his chest.

                “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roman said angrily. He was trying to sound intimidating, but his tone merely rang helplessly in the face of Virgil’s unimpressed glare. Roman took a step forward. “My father is the greatest wand maker in North America.”

                “So?” Virgil spat. “Doesn’t mean he’s not wrong.”

                Roman, clearly at a loss for words, opened his mouth and closed it several times. After a few seconds of gaping, he simply stomped his foot and said, “You’re just a _stupid_ No-Maj kid. What do you know?” With that, he marched away to the front row of the class with his friends in hot pursuit.

                This time, the word No-Maj rang empty of any pain. It didn’t even sting to hear it. Virgil sat comfortably in his chair, smiling to himself. He knew it was wrong to be bitter, but it felt _good_ to see that look of discomfort flash across Roman’s normally confident face. To take him down a peg? _That_ was nice.

                Virgil kept that feeling in his chest throughout the lesson. He took notes on transfiguration and the risks of improper spell-use. He watched the way Roman scribbled at his notebook with a frown. His friends hardly whispered to him. All of it made Virgil feel a little bigger. A little braver. He kicked his feet under his desk idly, taking notes without much care. His transfiguration teacher, Mr. Dirreson, calmly indicated to the chalkboard.

                “It is very important to you learn to hone your craft,” he said as he pointed to a few points on the board. “Without practicing your transfiguration spells over the summer, there is a chance that you may not remember how to use some of the basic techniques you learned in your first year.” Roman’s hand shot into the air, and Mr. Dirreson nodded. “Yes, Mr. Prince?”

                Roman beamed. “What if someone wasn’t in the first year of class?”

                A few kids giggled. Virgil felt his previous confidence shrinking in on itself. He slouched in his seat, trying to hide from the oncoming glances and whispers of his classmates. Stupid Roman. Stupid, stupid Roman.

                Mr. Dirreson hesitated, clearly not understanding his implication. “That’s… not possible, Mr. Prince. Every student has to go through the first year of courses to advance. Now, as I was saying –” Roman raised his hand again. Mr. Dirreson sighed. “Mr. Prince?”

                “What if a student has No-Maj parents that didn’t _let_ them go to first year classes?”

                Mr. Dirreson frowned. “Well, that’s an extenuating circumstance that –”

                “My father says that having No-Maj parents is bad for your magic,” Roman interrupted again. His voice was pitched toward genuine curiosity, but Virgil could hear the malice in those words. “Is that true?”

                Mr. Dirreson pursed his lips. “That isn’t relevant to the lesson, Mr. Prince.”

                Roman cocked his head to the side innocently. “I’m just curious.”

                “Well…” Mr. Dirreson tapped his wand against his desk idly. “I did go to school with a few No-Maj raised wizards. They were at a disadvantage, given their lack of understanding of magic. Does that answer your question, Mr. Prince?”

                Roman paused, pivoted in his chair to give Virgil a knowing smirk, and then turned back to the teacher with a nod. “Yes, it does. I just wanted to make sure my _father_ was _right_.”

                Virgil gripped his pencil so hard he was sure it would snap. Mr. Dirreson went back to the lesson without any qualms, completely unaware of what he’d just done. Virgil’s cheeks burned as his classmates giggled to themselves, glancing in his direction. Was he the only one in the room that was raised by a No-Maj? No, he couldn’t be. There were students in Patton’s class who had understood his struggle. Then… were the other No-Maj children just being quiet? Where they letting Virgil take the brunt of the assault while they hid their secret? Virgil chewed his bottom lip, fighting to focus on the lesson. The notes were a blur, and Virgil let his brain work on autopilot, copying the notes on the board.

                The bell rang forty long minutes later, and Virgil watched with tired eyes as Roman sauntered out of the room with a smile on his face. He didn’t even look in Virgil’s direction. Virgil let the rest of the class go ahead of him, gathering his books slowly. Charms was next. Charms with Patton. Charms in a room that he knew Roman wouldn’t get away with backhanded comments on No-Maj families.

                After all… Patton was raised by No-Majs, too.

                Slipping into the Charms classroom, Virgil took a seat in the first empty row he saw. It was somewhere in the middle of the room – a bit out of his comfort zone – but when he saw Patton’s cheerful smile, he couldn’t help but relax. Everything was going to be okay.

                “Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted Virgil with a friendly wave. “Long time no see!” Several students gave Virgil a questioning look from across the room, and Virgil merely ducked his chin embarrassedly.

When the rows of desks finally filled, Patton stepped up to the front of the room, smiling and practically buzzing with energy. “Welcome back to Ilvermorny, kids! It’s great to see your smiling, happy faces in class again. I’m Professor Patton Sanders, and I’ll be your Charms teacher for the rest of the term! Let’s get started, yeah?” He pulled out his wand with a dramatic flourish of hand, tapping the chalkboard with the words of a spell written across the black surface. “Have any of you ever tried the –” Roman’s hand went up. Patton paused, giving the student a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, Roman?”

                Roman leaned forward in his seat – in the front row, no less – and gave Patton a long, careful look. “Are you _really_ Virgil’s dad?”

                “I sure am,” Patton grinned, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Now, let’s get started with…” Patton paused, his expression clearly crumbling before he refreshed his smile and looked back at Roman, who had raised his hand once more. “Yes?”

                “I thought Virgil was raised by a No-Maj?” Roman said curiously.

                The class started to murmur, and Patton was tense when he said, “That’s none of your business, Roman.”

                Virgil squirmed. Patton was irritated again. He’d already seen Patton upset with Clemms earlier that day… now it was happening all over again. He didn’t like this. Why couldn’t Roman just drop the subject?

                Right on cue, Roman sat forward in his chair. “But you told my father. Why can’t you tell me?”

                Patton looked like he was ready to snap his wand in half. Virgil watched as Patton gripped his wand with a white-knuckle grip, taking a deep breath through his fake, strained smile.

                “Because that was a private conversation.” Patton gave the rest of the class a stern look, and the murmuring faded away to soft, awkward shuffling. Patton nodded officially. “Furthermore, there’s nothing wrong with being raised by a No-Maj.” Roman opened his mouth to no doubt disagree, but Patton cut him off. “For your information, my parents are No-Majs, and they loved me _very_ much. My magic never suffered, and now I teach in the greatest wizarding school in the world.” Roman clamped his mouth shut, and Patton let out a sigh. “I actually find it a little offensive that you think anyone is less of a wizard based on who raised them.”

                At that, Roman ducked his head and turned a page in his notebook, obviously trying to play dumb. Patton’s grip on his wand lessened, and his smile smoothed out into something more natural. He glanced at Virgil – sending him a subtle wink – before starting the lecture.

                Settling into his seat, Virgil bit the corner of his smile, taking notes on the incarinua spell. Soft pinpricks of satisfaction as Roman was silent throughout the rest of the lesson. Perhaps the rest of the day would be fine. After a rough start, his first day was turning out to be rather enjoyable.

 _Especially_ if it involved Roman Prince not talking for the remainder of the hour.

+++++

                Settling into the back row of Logan’s classroom, Virgil watched as his fellow students filtered into the room. No sight of Roman yet. That was good. The less Virgil saw him, the better. Logan stood at the head of the room, watching the board carefully write out a listen of classroom rules. Papers shuffled themselves on his desk, fluttering anxiously as Logan tapped his wand against his open palm. For those brief, quiet moments, Virgil felt himself relax. He opened his notebook, keen on being a diligent student, and clicked his mechanical pencil idly as his classmates found their seats. It was nearly an ideal, noiseless classroom for nearly two minutes.

                That was, of course, until Roman Prince stepped into the room.

                He walked through the door with enough pomp and circumstance to put a parade to shame, animatedly telling his friends a story as they shuffled through the rows of desks. Instead of meeting Virgil’s glare with his own bratty sneer, Roman choose to ignore Virgil’s anger. Almost like he was trying to pretend the incident of the morning hadn’t happened, Roman smiled and waved at Virgil before taking a seat in the front row of desks.

                Not one to let go of a grudge, Virgil continued to grimace as Roman pivoted in his seat to talk to his friends. Irritation boiled in his stomach at the sight. Roman could make friends easily… but because of what he’d done to Virgil that morning, none of the other second-year students were willing to talk to Virgil. Or, Virgil bit his lip, was no one taking to him because he’d walked out of class? Was it because of what he’d said to Roman? Had he ruined everything on his own?

                The bell rang, and Virgil’s eyes snapped up to see Logan flick his wand toward the door. It shut itself and the lock _clicked_ in finality. Several students looked at each other anxiously, and a few of them murmured questions to one another. Logan quickly silenced them when he spoke as calm and authoritatively as ever.

                “Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I am Professor Logan Sanders, and I do _not_ tolerate tardiness, laziness, or gossiping in my classroom.” He sent a sharp look at a small trio of girls who were whispering in the corner, and they sunk down in their seats quietly. Logan then tapped the chalkboard. “I do not accept late papers in this class and you will be expected to keep up with your studies. Dedicate yourself to practicing spells in class or in your free time. Are there any questions thus far?”

                The class was silent. Virgil was biting back a smile at the look of complete terror his fellow students were giving Logan. They were _scared_ of him. They had no idea that Logan was really a big softie. Virgil sat back in his seat, clicking his pencil with a sly grin. Logan began to launch into a lecture. It was a topic Virgil was familiar with; they’d spoken about red-capped inklings and the spells to subdue them the week before they left for Ilvermorny, so he took liberal notes, scribbling in the margins of his notebook while Logan named the characteristics of the creatures.

                His gaze eventually drifted back to Roman, and his nose wrinkled up at the sight of Roman doodling something on a piece of paper before handing it to the girl next to him. She giggled into her hand, drew something on the paper, and slid it back to him. Virgil frowned. Why weren’t they paying attention? Roman was getting on his nerves more and more. With Logan’s back turned, he had no idea Roman was passing notes. And, unlike Patton, he couldn’t hear whatever Roman was thinking. Virgil huffed and started to doodle a little stick figure shooting a lightning bolt across his paper.

                After twenty long minutes of lecture, Logan turned to the class with a neutral expression. He glanced at Roman for a moment, and Virgil momentarily wondered if Patton had told him about what had happened earlier that day. Did Logan know Roman was bullying him? Was he going to do something? Virgil’s small amount of hope for that was dashed when Logan looked away from Roman, seemingly uninterested in the boy.

                “With that in mind, I believe learning a spell first-hand is an invaluable skill,” Logan said stiffly, setting the chalk aside and indicating to the doors. “Make sure to bring your wands and follow me.”

                Slowly sliding out of their seats, Virgil and his classmates shuffled to the door in an awkward, mumbling crowd. Logan lead them through the hallways and into the courtyard of Ilvermorny. The summer sun still beat down heavily on the lush, green grass that surrounded the school. In the distance, Virgil could hardly see the barrier that protected Ilvermorny shimmering against the trees that marked the edge of the campus, far on the horizon.

                He squinted up at the cloudless sky, turning his wand over and over in his hands. His classmates surrounded Logan, listening carefully as he explained the afinnus spell. He’d heard the lecture back at home. It stopped the gnome-like creatures from rising from the ground and excreting a noxious, dizzying gas. The spell was meant to neutralize them. Virgil had tried it a few times, but without the red-capped inklings on their property, the lesson had been more of a theoretical demonstration rather than actual practice.

                Gesturing to the large, open garden that the herbology class was supposed to use, Logan straightened his glasses and raised his voice so the class would listen. “The school garden commonly has issues with an overabundance of red-capped inklings. They are drawn to the ghillwax and dittany that is grown on campus.” He pulled out his wand, demonstrating the movement of the afinnus spell. “In this lesson, we will use the afinnus spell to remove the inklings. Do _not_ cast this spell on your classmates.” His gaze turned unamused as his eyes traveled over the group of students. “Failure to listen to this warning will earn you an immediate trip to detention. Now,” he waved the class toward the three-acre large garden, “Let us begin.”

                Immediately, Roman and his band of friends went tearing through the rows of vegetation, keen on hunting as many inklings as they could. Virgil, however, stayed back with Logan, glancing around at the wooden lattice that climbed up the side of the school. It was covered in a familiar herb. One he’d used while mixing potions with Logan. He fidgeted with his wand, glancing up to see Logan’s eyes trained on the other students.

                After a few moments, Logan spoke. “Is there a reason you’re not participating in the lesson, Virgil?” There wasn’t any malice in his voice, but Virgil flinched anyway, taking a short step away from Logan. Logan’s voice was softer as he asked, “Was something unclear in my instruction?”

                “No,” Virgil mumbled, twiddling his wand between his fingers idly. “I just… I dunno. I’m gonna go… give it a shot.” He gestured vaguely to the garden, and Logan gave him an approving nod and a smile. Virgil hesitantly smiled back, tiptoeing into the lush, freshly tilled soil of the garden.

                He walked through the rows of sprouts, listening to his classmates as they shouted and laughed at each other. Some were sprayed with the inkling’s gas, and were stumbling around the field in a daze while their friends laughed. Virgil watched from the outside. Some part of him wanted to join them… another part wanted him to run back to Logan and stand with him until the lesson was over.

                Virgil skirted along the outside of the garden, avoiding the patches of dittany and ghillwax that the red-inklings normally ate. If he was lucky, he could avoid participating all together. He wandered toward the circular cover of a well that was fastened into carved stone. He kicked the heavy padlock that held the well shut, vaguely listening to Roman declare his victory over the ‘red-capped menace!’

                Turning to admire his classmates, Virgil shoved his hands into his pockets. Logan was standing with a group of girls, carefully wiping away one student’s tears as she feverishly tried to explain what had happened with the inklings. From this distance, Virgil couldn’t tell exactly what she was saying, but he could see the rest of his classmates in awe of Logan’s gentle demeanor toward the distraught girl. Virgil smiled. That was the Logan _he_ knew. The Logan that simply wanted to teach, and would do anything to comfort a student if needed.

                Virgil glanced down at the wand in his hand, pursing his lips. Logan was expecting him to try his best. Do to that, he couldn’t just sit on the sidelines. He needed to practice. To do everything he could. Virgil lifted his gaze to see Logan carefully demonstrating the spell once more. Virgil gripped his wand tightly. He wanted to make Logan proud. He wanted to progress.

                Taking a step forward, Virgil was startled to feel two strange hands on his shoulders. Before he could turn to see who it was, he was pulled back roughly, yanked back toward the ground. He let go of his wand, reaching back to find his attacker… but there was no one. His eyes closed on instinct, and his arms pinwheeled back, a vein attempt to try to catch himself. But there was nothing to catch. He simply fell down, down, down… Virgil opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of that blue, cloudless sky, in the shape of a circle that just kept shrinking.

                And then he hit the water.

                It sure _felt_ like hitting the ground. Sharp and knocking the wind out of his lungs as he sank down into the freezing cold well water. Virgil floundered, desperately flailing his arms in an attempt to reach the surface once more. It was dark… and so _cold_. He broke the surface, gasping for breath as he shakily held his head above water. His teeth started to chatter. His school robes dragged him down, heavily with the water. He stared up at the opening of the well helplessly.

                It had been closed. It had been _locked_. Was this a dream? Was it a nightmare? Sputtering urgently, Virgil’s hands scrambled at the stone lining of the well. He struggled for a grip, a notch in the stone, _anything_ that would help him stay above water. It was so cold… did anyone see him fall? How could he get out? He scratched at the sides of the well, finding no purchase on the smooth stone. His head slipped back underwater, and Virgil kicked his legs furiously, lifting his head above the icy water and spitting old well water out of his mouth.

                “H-help!” Virgil screeched, scratching desperately at the sides of the well. Everything was getting heavier… the water felt colder. “Help! Someone! I can’t… I can’t s-swim!”

                Slipping along the walls of the well, Virgil tilted his head back, watching the opening of the well. A head had appeared. Their face was dark, but they peered down at Virgil for a moment, almost like they were making sure he was really stuck in the water.

                “Do something! Get help!” Virgil screamed, choking and sputtering on the thick, icy water. When he breeched the surface again, he coughed a few times before crying, “Please, help! Logan! P-Patton!”

                The head lifted away from the opening of the well, and Virgil heard a familiar voice shriek, “Mr. Sanders! Mr. Sanders, come quick!” Virgil blinked in surprise. Roman? Had Roman seen him fall? Or was Roman the _cause_ of the fall? Virgil felt his muscles shiver and seize in the cold water. It was getting harder to stay afloat. Roman was gone.

                Cold, cold, cold… like a slow, winter day. Breath caught in his lungs. Limbs full of lead. The water closed over his head, and Virgil kicked his body into action again, flailing in the water until he was up and able to breathe once more. He sputtered and coughed. He couldn’t feel his fingers. Where was Roman? Had he been able to call Logan? Virgil felt heavy. Almost sleepy. Is this what it was like to drown?

                “Virgil!” Logan’s voice was cracked and desperate, echoing eerily along the stone interior of the well.  “Virgil, say something!”

                Virgil’s eyes wrenched open – when has they closed? – and his body shivered into motion, startling him into action. “L-Logan!”

                There was a burst of light, and something splashed down into the water. Logan’s voice echoed again, clear and demanding. “Grab the rope, Virgil!”

                Virgil coughed and splashed through the water, grasping for anything he could find. It was so dark… where was the rope? When his hands finally found purchase on something, he tugged on it. His teeth where chattering too hard for him to speak. He was so, _so_ cold… The rope tugged back. He could hear Logan’s voice: “Hang on, Virgil!” and then, “You’re almost there!” as he was dragged back to the top of the well.

                Virgil’s arms were tired from treading water. His hands slipped a few times, but he focused on Logan’s voice. He could hear the worried chatter and cheers of encouragement from his classmates. He felt his arms hit the edge of the well, his hands scratching for purchase along the grass and dirt around the garden. Logan’s arms around him, warm and secure.

                Logan pulled him close, embracing him with warm, strong arms. “Oh, thank Morrigan…” his voice was shaking. Virgil had never heard it like that before. It was warm… it was cold. Soft, shivering… a numbing feeling. Virgil grasped at Logan’s cloak, burying his face in Logan’s chest and soaking in his warmth. His body was wracked with shivering. Logan held him closer, almost too tight to be comforting. “I’ve got you, Virgil… you’re alright. I’ve got you.”

                When Virgil lifted his head, he met Roman Prince’s wide, terrified eyes. For a brief moment, Virgil felt suspicion flash through him. Perhaps Roman had pulled him back and into the well. Maybe it was a prank gone wrong. Virgil wouldn’t put it past him… that was, until Roman spoke.

                “You were right there… then I looked up, and you were… you were gone,” Roman sounded dumbfounded, as if the idea of Virgil falling into the well was inconceivable. “You were just… _gone_.”

                Virgil didn’t say anything. He shivered in Logan’s arms, trembling with cold despite the summer heat. Logan held him close, and Virgil could feel the speeding thrum of his heart. Closing his eyes, Virgil ducked his head against Logan’s shoulder once more. He was fine, now. He was safe.

                Once more, Logan whispered into Virgil’s dripping hair, “I’ve got you.”

+++++

                “This is an _outrage_!” Logan’s voice reverberated through Patrice’s office as he paced the floor. Virgil sat in front of the Principal’s desk, wrapped in Logan’s robes and still shivering from his tumble into the well. Patrice sat, quiet and unimpressed by Logan’s shouting, at her desk, glaring at Logan as he waved his arms in the air. “My _son_ is _attacked_ on school grounds, and all you have to offer in consolation is a detention slip for _skipping a_ _class_?”

                Patrice sat back in her chair. Virgil eyed the way she pursed her lips, ruby red and painted so perfectly to accentuate her cupids-bow lips. “Mr. Sanders, I assure you, if your son was indeed attacked, it would be the priority of the school. However,” she shot a pointed glance at Virgil. “It seems as though your son is having difficulties working with his classmates. Is it possible that he –”

                Logan turned on his heel, pointing an accusing finger at Patrice. “Don’t you _dare_ accuse Virgil of jumping into that well.”

                Patrice was unmoved by his tone, and continued as though he never interrupted. “Is it possible that he maybe have simply… _fallen_ into the well, Mr. Sanders?”

                Virgil grit his teeth, shivering in Logan’s cloak. “It was locked.” Both adults turned to look at him, and Virgil shrunk beneath the scrutiny, staring at the floor as he muttered. “There was a big padlock on it and everything. I don’t know how it got open, but… it was…” Patrice still didn’t look convinced, and Virgil squirmed in his seat, feeling his sopping wet shoes squelch against the carpeted floor. “Someone _pushed_ me. Or… pulled me. I… I felt it.” He hesitantly met Patrice’s eye, holding it for a moment as he muttered, “I didn’t jump.”

                Patrice shuffled a few papers on her desk. “There is no way this can be proven. None of the other students witnessed any sort of attack, physical, magical, or otherwise. However, your classmates _did_ witness you walking out of your first-period potions class. For that, I _will_ have to make a note in your student file describing the behavior, and you will be assigned three hours of detention.”

                Logan slammed his hand on Patrice’s desk, and Virgil jumped at the sound. He’d never seen Logan using force to prove a point. It was always sharp words and cutting intellect. This… this was a side of Logan he’d never seen before.

                “This is a _gross_ misuse of authority,” growled Logan. Patrice quirked an eyebrow, and Logan stood up straight. “Mark my words, if this goes _any_ further –”

                “I assure you that it won’t, Mr. Sanders.” Patrice pulled a piece of paper in front of herself and dipped her quill into a pot of ink. Then, she wrote Virgil’s name in looping, condemning scrawl across the top of the page. “I’m sure this was nothing more than an accident, and it will not occur again. Enjoy your detention, Mr. Sanders.” She handed the detention referral to Virgil – who took it with a slightly shivering hand – and turned her gaze to Logan. “And, for further reference, I do hope that you keep your behavior slightly more…” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “ _Cordial_ from now on, Mr. Sanders.”

                Logan didn’t have a snappish response for that. He stood up straight, pulled Virgil from his chair, and dragged him to the door. With Logan’s arm around his shoulders and the cloak wrapped heavily around himself, Virgil shuffled along beside his parent. He cautiously glanced up when Logan opened the door for him, finding fire in his deep, blue eyes. Virgil quickly looked away.

                Together, they walked down the spiral staircase and away from Patrice’s office. To Virgil’s surprise, Patton was waiting for them at the bottom step. As soon as he saw Virgil, he rushed forward, gathering Virgil – and Logan’s slightly soggy cloak – into his arms.

                “Oh, Virgil! I heard about what happened…” Patton pulled Virgil back, holding his face and turning it to and fro. “Where you hurt? You poor thing… that must’ve been so scary. But you’re so brave!” He pulled Virgil into another hug, and this time, he let Virgil hug him back. Patton’s heart was thudding madly in his chest as he stroked Virgil’s damp hair. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

                Logan immediately began to pace the floor, wringing his hands in irritation. Patton watched him passively, not bothering to stop Logan as the man started to rant. “She is _despicable_. Virgil could have drowned in that damn well, and what does she do? _Nothing._ Absolutely nothing! How _dare_ she discriminate against my son. I’m in my right mind to take this up with the district school board. If I must take it to the MACUSA, I _will_.”

                Patton rubbed Virgil’s back and gently said, “Now, Logan… maybe it _was_ an accident. A spell gone wrong.”

                Logan spun on his heel to glare at Virgil. “How can you say that?” He waved frantically at Virgil, giving Patton a disbelieving shake of his head. “How are you not upset by this?”

                Patton sighed. “I _am_ upset, Logan.”

                Logan stepped closer. “You seem pretty damn calm, Patton.”

                “One of us has to be,” Patton said evenly, unbothered by Logan’s accusatory tone. For a moment, Patton and Logan stared at each other. Patton broke the stare when he blinked and looked away. “I know you’re upset with Patrice, but please… please don’t think things like that.”

                Virgil glanced between the two of them awkwardly. Should he step-in? Should he say something? Logan was off and pacing again before Virgil could speak, and Patton started to pet his hair softly. Virgil leaned his head against Patton’s chest. He liked it when Patton pet his hair. It fooled him into thinking everything was alright. Obviously hearing this, Patton hugged Virgil a little closer and kept stroking his hair.

                “I’m okay now,” Virgil said lowly. “I mean… it was scary, but… I’m okay now.”

                Logan wasn’t convinced, and he waved Virgil’s statement away. “There should be some sort of investigation into this… how was the well uncovered? Who was the perpetrator? What if other students are attacked?”

                Patton gave Virgil’s shoulders a supportive squeeze as he looked at Logan tiredly. “Logan, maybe now isn’t the best time…”

                “If not now, when?” Logan pressed, stepping close to Patton and making and urgent gesture of his hands. “What if this is only the beginning?”

                Shaking his head, Patton gave Logan’s cheek a pat. “It’s only be beginning of the year, Logan. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He turned to Virgil with a sad smile. “Accidents happen… but I’m so glad you’re alright.”

                Virgil blinked tiredly. “Yeah… me, too.”

                Patton was quiet as he murmured, “It seems like your first day didn’t go very… _well_.”

                Logan spun on his heel. “Did you just make a _joke_ about how Virgil fell into the school _well_ and nearly _drowned_?”

                Patton pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. “Things were so tense, and the two of you are all frazzled… I felt like I had to break the tension.”

                Virgil huffed a sympathy laugh before muttering, “Too soon.”

                “Noted,” Patton sighed. “This has just… it’s been a really rough first day for you. I wish it was better.”

                “And now he has detention,” Logan said with a huff. “Utterly ridiculous.”

                “Hey, hey… if you’re lucky, you can spend your detention with me!” Patton said with a small smile, rubbing Virgil’s shoulder fondly. He steered Virgil down the hall, toward the student dorms. Logan followed behind them, grumbling something about Patrice as they walked. Patton ignored it. “Why don’t you go get a shower and wash all that well gunk off of you?” He suggested gently, patting Virgil’s shoulder. “You smell a little funky, kiddo.”

                Virgil wrinkled his nose at that. He would be happier if he’d been allowed to change into dry clothes right after Logan had pulled him out of the well. But, unfortunately, Patrice came walking into the courtyard, demanding Virgil come to her office _immediately_. Now, with a detention sentence in hand and Logan’s heavy cloak draped over his shoulders, Virgil waved at Patton and Logan as he stepped into his dormitory.

                It was fairly empty, unsurprisingly. Most of his classmates were still in their sixth-hour class. There were a few seventh-year students lounging in the common room, their feet kicked up on the tables and chatting idly with one another. Virgil shuffled through the room, ignoring the interesting looks and whispers that followed him. He went straight for the boy’s tower, ducking through the door and climbing the three flights to his floor. There, he dropped Logan’s cloak on the floor – he’d have to find a way to wash the well water off later – and went rummaging in his bags for his spare uniform. As he stripped out of his soggy clothes, Virgil sighed. Patton was right. It was a horrible first day.

                He had no way of knowing it would only get worse.

+++++

                It started with the nightmares. Brief, candid glimpses of horrifying moments. Fractured and fragmented pieces that were caught between reality and fiction. Sometimes, Virgil could hear Patton’s voice, broken and terrified, calling for him. Fear. Adrenaline. The taste of copper on his tongue. The flash of hands reaching, reaching, trying to hold him… to catch him or suppress him? Virgil never knew.

                At first, Virgil had been able to wake from these dreams in a cold sweat, surviving his first week of school with barely a full night of sleep to behold. He’d never be able to fall asleep again. His heart would pound too hard, and he couldn’t leave the room to get a glass of water. He’d wake his dormmates. So he simply laid in bed quietly until the sun rose. And for a while, it worked.

                Until the dreams became worse. Physical lashes against his skin that felt so real, Virgil was wrenched from sleep. Falling from a broomstick in the middle of the sky, rushing toward the earth, the wind screaming in his ear… a heated argument with Logan, and the older man’s hand coming up in preparation to strike. Patton’s voice, high and terrified as he cast a spell on Virgil, offensive and burning. From those dreams… Virgil couldn’t wake quietly. It wasn’t with a slight jolt and a breathless gasp.

                Virgil _screamed_ when he woke from those nightmares. Much to the chagrin of his dormmates.

                Which, after a week of startling his dormmates out of slumber, is how Virgil found himself at the top floor of the Pukwudgie dorm. The room was empty – no student wanted to walk to the tenth floor – except for Virgil. He was alone in the dark, cold tower. Most nights, it was comforting. He could wake up, terrified, shouting for help, only to notice that no one was groaning for him to shut up.

                In the aftermath of his dreams, he would wander his empty room He could open the window and look out over the campus. He could see the garden from his window. He could see the well that he was pushed into. He could see the glimmer of Ilvermorny’s barrier, strong and translucent, against the dark backdrop of the forests beyond the school.

                After two weeks in Ilvermorny, that incident seemed so far away, and yet… it felt like it had only happened the day before. Virgil could still remember the cold, stabbing pain of hitting the water. He could still hear Logan’s voice calling for him, afraid and urgent. He remembered the look on Roman Prince’s face, alarmed and distraught. Virgil frowned where he sat in the window, staring out at the distant sunrise.

                Another day, another struggle to stay awake during classes. Another day of hearing comments about his tired expression and resting glare. Another day of listening to Roman Prince heroically recall his contribution to Virgil’s rescue before pointing out the dark, tired circles under Virgil’s eyes.

                “And I thought he was dark and sinister _before_ ,” Roman had laughed the other day. “Now I think he’s really trying to live up to my expectations!”

                Virgil tried to ignore these comments, busying himself with homework and studying. But word traveled fast in a school. The other second-year Pukwudgies were quick to gossip about Virgil’s night terrors. More and more of his classmates made note of his tired, irritated appearance. He was an outcast. A sailor lost at sea with ships surrounding him, refusing to take him onboard.

                And that’s how it stayed. Uncomfortable. Lonely. Infuriating. All through Virgil’s first month at Ilvermorny, rumors and stares followed him. Logan didn’t hear the whispers. He was busy trying to fight Patrice on every thing she tried to do, eager to get justice for the mistreatment of Virgil’s accident. Patton, however, _did_ notice the whispers. And the bags under Virgil’s eyes. _And_ the way Virgil nodded off during his class.

                “I’m worried about you, Virgil,” said Patton on a sunny September afternoon. Virgil sat in his desk, scratching at the cover of his notebook and studiously avoiding Patton’s eyes. Patton didn’t wait for a reply. He pulled up a chair on the opposite side of Virgil’s desk, sitting down while the room steadily filled with other students. “You look so tired, kiddo… and you never tell me why. That can’t be easy in class.”

                Virgil knew there was no use lying, but he tried to think of anything but the nightmares anyway. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, as if he could scrub the dark circles under his eyes away. “Just… can’t sleep.”

                Patton tilted his head, struggling to catch Virgil’s eye. His gaze was full of concern as he murmured, “Bad dreams about the well?” Virgil shrugged, and Patton smiled sadly. “PTSD is normal, kiddo. What happened was scary. Maybe… maybe we should have you talk to someone? Maybe the school counselor?”

                Virgil squirmed, watching as Roman and his friends walked through the door. He quickly diverted his stare to his notebook. “No. Everyone is already talking about me… I just…” He slouched in his chair a bit, avoiding Patton’s heavy, worrying stare. “I just wanna forget about it.”

                “That’s not how memories work, kiddo.” Patton stood slowly, pushing his chair back into place as he stood over Virgil. “Especially not trauma.”

                “Look, I don’t…” Virgil folded his arms atop his desk and leaned into them. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

                Respecting Virgil’s limits, Patton took a step back, welcoming the other students to class. Virgil busied himself pulling at the pages that held his homework assignment. His own writing was blurry and messy – he’d been too tired to make it neat – and he frowned at the paper. Classmates settled into their seats. No one sat next to Virgil. Patton stood at the head of the room, smiling at the other kids and asking them how their day was going. Virgil felt his eyelids droop, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his eyes wide open. He needed to stay awake. If he could, maybe Patton would stop asking how he was feeling.

                “Alright-y! Today we’ll be working on one of my favorite spells!” Patton announced with a wave of his hand. The word _lumos_ was written on the chalkboard, and Patton whipped out his wand. “I think you’ll find this spell rather… _illuminating_.”

                The class heaved a collective groan as Patton giggled at his joke, demonstrating the use of the spell. Virgil sighed gratefully. It looked like it was an easy spell that day. That meant there would be few written notes. As Patton started to explain the Latin roots of the spell, Virgil yawned and rolled his wand along the surface of his desk.

                For a few minutes, Virgil felt himself nodding off. Until… he didn’t hear Patton talking anymore. He lifted his gaze from the table, seeing Patton staring straight ahead with a befuddled expression. Virgil’s brow burrowed. He looked… _confused_. Patton held his wand at attention, looking straight at the back of the room, his lips parted around a word that he didn’t dare to finish. A few of the other students leaned into each other, giggling at his perplexed expression. Virgil frowned; had Patton paused mid-lecture? Did he forget what he had been saying? Had he heard a troubling thought?

                Blinking rapidly, Patton shook his head and held a hand to his head. “I can’t… why can’t I hear? I can’t…”

                Virgil blinked. He couldn’t hear? Was he talking about the students… or their thoughts? Patton smiled uneasily as a few students giggled – confused and unfocused – at their teacher. Shifting in his seat, Virgil gave Patton a long, hard look. Something was wrong. It was clear in Patton’s fake, thin-lipped smile. After a few seconds of idle confusion, Patton opened his mouth to no doubt continue to his lesson He didn’t get the chance.

                With a sharp _crack_ , the room went dark. Virgil jumped at the sudden change, and several of his classmates screamed in alarm. It was like someone has snuffed out all the lights in Ilvermorny. Not even the windows let in any sunlight. There was the sound of rushed footsteps, students running about the room and trying to find a way out of the inky blankness. Virgil could hear Patton’s voice over the top of it all, loud and fearful as he tried to maintain some semblance of order.

                “Everyone! Calm down! I’m sure everything… everything is alright!”

                Virgil stayed put, gripping the edges of his desk as the classroom around him rumbled with chaos. No matter how wide he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see _anything_. It was pitch-black. Virgil felt panic seep into his chest, and his heart thrummed with adrenaline. He closed his eyes. Everything would be fine. Patton was there. He would solve this.

                Virgil felt a hand land on his back, soft and secure. Too large to be a classmate’s. Patton? Virgil reached back, feeling for the owner of the hand, only to feel himself lifted out of his seat. Then, as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll, he was thrown through the air. He hardly even had the chance to scream as he was launched over the edge of his desk toward the head of the room.

                He hit the floor with a heavy _thud,_ and rolled until he hit a table. The table in question rattled. Virgil’s body moved on instinct, flinching away from the sound as something came crashing down in the place where he once lay. Abruptly, the lights returned.

                The classroom was a mess. Students had knocked over chairs – and each other – in their desperation to get out of the room. Virgil lay, trembling and gasping for breath, at the foot of Patton’s desk. There, where he had been only moments before, was the bookshelf that sat in the front corner of the room. The shelves – once lined with beautifully preserved vials of potions and jars of magic-enhancing salves – were empty. The contents were now laying shattered and spread across the floor. Looking at the faint, hissing smoke that rose from the wreckage, Virgil swallowed thickly. Would that have killed him if he hadn’t moved? Would he have melted? Or burned?

                “Virgil! Get away from there!” Patton shrieked, waving the rest of the students out of the room. “All those things mixed together… it’s poisonous! Don’t breathe in! Everyone, out of the room! _Now_!”

                Quickly holding the sleeve of his cloak over his mouth and nose, Virgil scrambled up and off the floor. Patton waited for him at the back of the room, helping the shaken children out of the room as the thick, crackling smoke spread through the room. Rushing into Patton’s arms, Virgil allowed himself to be dragged, shaking and breathless, through the doorway.

                Once Virgil had been deposited on Ilvermorny’s marble hallway floor, Patton turned and waved his wand at the doorway. The door promptly slammed shut, and a clear, glowing aura surrounded the seams of the doorway. Virgil blinked. Would that keep the smoke at bay? Probably.

                When the bright, hot glow faded to a slight shimmer, Patton turned to his class with wide, distressed eyes. A few kids were crying. Someone had cut themselves while trying to get out of the room. A girl with nyctophobia was being comforted by her friends. Roman Prince stood with his friends, clearly shaken by the ordeal. No one approached Virgil. They all split into their respective groups, leaving Virgil to shiver with fear alone.

                First the well… and now this. Invisible hands. A force he couldn’t explain. It was almost like the fires he’d caused before he’d been adopted. But… those has been Virgil, hadn’t they? Virgil swallowed thickly. Was _he_ doing this? How could he be? He was half-asleep through most of the lesson. And wouldn’t he have had to perform a spell to throw himself across the room? Virgil stared at the floor. Was his magic just… _bad_? Was he a bad kid? Was that possible?

                “Virgil,” Patton’s voice rang tired and hollow as he knelt down in front of Virgil. “Are you okay?”

                “Yeah…” Virgil blinked slowly, staring down at the floor shakily. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

                “Virgil. Look at me,” Patton said sternly. “Please. Look at me.” Meeting Patton’s gaze hesitantly, Virgil saw nothing short of genuine fear glittering in his eyes as he murmured, “Think of something.”

                Virgil licked his lips. “W-what?”

                “Think of something,” Patton repeated urgently. “ _Anything_.”

                Virgil _was_ thinking of something. He was blaming himself. He was feeling the brunt of guilt while his fellow students eagerly discussed the possibility of the school being haunted by vengeful spirits. Patton’s eyes scanned his face, watching for a hint of… something. Virgil gave him a strange look. What did he want?

                After a solid minute of Patton staring at him, Virgil watched as Patton held a hand to his forehead, eyes wide with mingling surprise and fear. “I can’t hear it,” he breathed, glancing around at the other students. Several nearby classrooms had opened their doors, and teachers had come to investigate the noise. Patton paid them no attention as he pressed his fingers to his temples, still mystified by this development. “I can’t hear _any_ of you.”

                Virgil watched as Mr. Dirreson and Mrs. Clemms approached their bumbling, murmuring class. Clemms reached out to Patton, attempting to wrestle some sort of explanation out of him. Virgil pushed himself off the ground, staring at the hazy, subtly glowing frame of Patton’s classroom. Patton was still holding his head, confused and alarmed as Clemms tried to ask what happened. Dirreson gathered the class, calming Roman as he fervently tried to explain the ‘darkest darkness he’d ever seen.’

                With a slightly trembling hand, Virgil touched the back of his neck, his fingers brushing over the spot where the mystery hand had grabbed him. It couldn’t have been Patton… he couldn’t even imagine Patton throwing _any_ student across the room. As for his classmates, Virgil _knew_ that none of his classmates would be strong enough to throw him. Virgil blinked slowly, turning to look at his classmates.

                First the well, now the classroom… and now Patton couldn’t hear thoughts. Virgil narrowed his eyes at his classmates, watching as they all fell in line with Dirreson’s instruction. Roman glanced over in Virgil’s direction. At least, Virgil thought Roman was looking at him. His gaze turned fearful after a few seconds, and Roman quickly averted his gaze, leaning in to a friend and whispering something urgently. Turning slowly to the opposite side of the hallway, following Roman’s line of sight.

                There, at the end of the hall, stood Naroona J. Patrice, her eyes sharp and knowing. She was looking directly at Virgil, and Virgil… he felt his heart freeze in fear. Dark and lingering, Virgil felt the weight of that gaze. He hesitated, but he turned and walked, safe and secure, into Patton’s waiting arms. For that moment, he was safe. For that one, little moment… Virgil closed his eyes, and pretended that Patton could hear him desperately hoping for comfort.

                That comfort never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, and you guys thought the pacing would stay relaxed?  
> Haha! No.
> 
> See you next chapter.


	7. Jump and Drop

                Soft, trembling hands came to rest on Virgil’s shoulders. Patton’s hands. They did little to comfort him when Patton was still staring straight ahead with wide eyes. A deer caught in the headlights. Patton’s face was still a vision of confusion as Clemms leaned in and shook his shoulder, hoping to prod some sort of explanation from him. Virgil held onto Patton’s cloak, leaning over and attempting to catch Patton’s eye.

                “Patton? Come on, you have to say something,” Clemms looked a bit desperate as she fluttered her hands over Patton’s shoulder. Not quite pulling or pushing, just hovering like a flustered hummingbird. “Why is your classroom door sealed? What _happened_?”

                Patton opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for words, before he blinked life back into his eyes. He gave Clemms a disbelieving look. “That darkness… came out of nowhere. It wasn’t one of my students,” he reasoned softly, like he was trying to convince himself. “I didn’t see any of them throw anything or cast a spell before it happened.” Patton licked his lips shakily, holding one hand to his forehead. “I… I didn’t see it coming…”

                “Didn’t see _what_ coming?” Clemms sputtered. She looked to Virgil for answers. “What on earth happened?”

                Before Virgil could open his mouth to sputter something, _anything_ , that would explain whatever had just happened, Patrice’s stepped forward, her high heels _clicking_ against the marble floors. The sound of her heels cut through the muddled voices of the other students still mumbling to each other and ignoring Dirreson’s instructions to remain calm.

                “Mr. Sanders,” Patrice said stiffly, her voice low and irritated. “I’d like to see you in my office. Immediately, if I may.”

                Patton turned to see Patrice, his eyes wide with surprise. Virgil gave him a pitying look. Patton had no way of knowing what Patrice was thinking now. He was still reeling from recent events. His hazel eyes darted from Patrice to his students and then finally down to Virgil. He blinked hard, as if forcing reason into his brain.

                “I… my students,” Patton finally stuttered, his voice wobbly and uncertain. “They’re all scared. I need to…”

                “You _need_ to describe exactly what happened in your classroom,” Patrice said crossly, her eyes narrowed at Patton’s speechless face. “This blatant and heinous attack on our school is a serious matter and should be investigated immediately. I will see you in my office, Mr. Sanders.” Walking toward the group of Patton’s still slightly shaken students, Patrice raised her hands into the air, drawing their attention from DIrreson’s confused face. “Children! I apologize for this rude interruption of your education. But, due to extenuating circumstances, your Charms class has been cancelled until the room can be cleaned and fumigated. Please use your free time to study for your next class.”

                With that, Patrice turned and stalked off down the hallway, her shining, silvery robe trailing behind her as she went. The second-year students immediately started to disperse, happy to spend the rest of their free time doing whatever they wanted. Dirreson never stood a chance stopping them. None of them listened as he instructed them to go to the library to study.

                Glancing up at Patton, Virgil bit his lip. “Pat? Are you okay?”

                Patton smiled down at him, discomfort flashing through his eyes. “I’m fine, Vir–” abruptly, Patton doubled-over, his head in his hands as he let out an alarmed shout.

                Next to him, Clemms stumbled back, a hand to her heart. Virgil stood frozen in place, his eyes wide. Fight or flight senses were kicked into action, but both combatted for control. So, he stood in place, his hands shaking with distress as a few of his lingering classmates watched with fearful eyes. Roman Prince was among them, watching with an uncharacteristic amount of silence as Patton took several deep, shaking breaths.

                “That…” Patton huffed breathlessly, “That came back with a _force_ ,” he laughed, but there was no humor in it. He lifted his head, squinting at Virgil with a pained smile. “I… almost forgot how loud you think, kiddo.”

                “What?” Clemms breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. “What are you _talking_ about?”

                Virgil gave Clemms a sidelong look; did she not know about Patton’s legilimency?

                “No,” Patton answered his thought with a tired sigh. “It’s a little… family secret.” Standing upright, Patton glanced around with narrowed eyes. Virgil gave him a sympathetic look. Was it painful, hearing everyone’s thoughts again? Patton glanced down at Virgil with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be okay, Virgil. But…” he brushed Virgil’s bangs out of his eyes, a strange expression on his face. “I want you to… to stick with Mrs. Clemms. I don’t want you to be alone while I go talk to Patrice.”

                Clemms perked up at that. “Of course. I’ll keep a close eye on him, I promise.”

                Virgil gave Patton a look. He didn’t need a babysitter. He needed Patton. Or Logan. He wanted to be with the people he actually trusted. Patton gave him an apologetic look.

                “Logan has a class right now… and I need to speak with Patrice.” He brushed a thumb over Virgil’s cheek. “Be brave for me while I’m gone, alright, sweetheart?”

                Shying away from the affectionate display – his classmates were still watching – Virgil shrugged. “Yeah… okay.”

                “That’s my boy,” Patton said, his eyes still narrowed and expression still pained as he started off down the hall. Virgil watched him go, his jaw clenched as Patton’s gray robes fluttered at his ankles as he slowly made his way to Patrice’s office.

                When Clemms placed her hand on Virgil’s shoulder, he couldn’t help but jump back and away from her. Too many bad things had happened when someone – or something – grabbed his shoulders. After being thrown down a well and into a bookshelf that exploded with noxious gas, he’d rather avoid being touched by someone he didn’t quite trust.

                Clemms tried to be nice. She tried to be considerate. She murmured encouragement to Virgil when she noticed he had no friends to comfort him. She smiled at him. She offered her hand. Virgil didn’t take it. He listened to the few students that still hovered at the edge of the classroom.

                Some whispered the possibility that _Patton_ was the cause of the darkness that scared them. They said It might’ve been some sort of prank gone wrong, and that’s why he was going to Patrice’s office. Somehow, she’d figured out the secret before anyone else. Virgil frowned at that. Another student said it was an upperclassman that disliked Patton, and they were trying to get back at him. Another student said it was Virgil. They had no proof or reason… they just thought Virgil would be the type of student to do something like that. Most of them unanimously agreed.

                Virgil didn’t dare to speak up. He didn’t want to give them any more ammunition than they already had. He simply let Clemms drag him back to her empty classroom. She had him wash empty beakers and cauldrons with her. They did this in silence. That was fine… it gave Virgil time to think about what had happened to himself… and Patton. His mind swirled in circles, and each worry melted down, circling the drain like the soapy water he rinsed off the beakers.

                Why was this happening? He set aside an empty test tube wrack. Why was he being targeted? He dipped his hands in the hot water. Something sharp pricked his finger, and he withdrew his hands with a hiss. He held his index finger up, watching as a bead of blood oozed from his fingertip, quickly leading to more. He leaned over, glancing down into the dark water.

                He never found the broken glass that cut him, even when the water was drained.

+++++

                Virgil walked through the cafetorium with at least a hundred pairs of eyes on him. News about the incident in Patton’s classroom had spread like wildfire. Now, holding a plastic tray with a sandwich and a glass of juice, Virgil glanced at his surroundings. Dinners were normally quiet for him. People avoided him – which was fine – and he could eat alone in peace.

                This evening was different. Everyone watched him. A few people whispered, their words lost beneath the normal din of the cafetorium. Virgil found an empty table, setting down his tray and showing the rest of the room his back as he pulled back a chair and sat down.

                The chair slid out from underneath him, and Virgil fell the to the floor with a flailing _thud_. Across the room, a ridiculous amount of students started to laugh. Virgil’s head whipped around to find the source. He glowered. Of _course_ it was Roman and his little friends. One of Roman’s friends still hand their wand out, and they were practically doubled-over with laughter as Roman pat their back encouragingly.

                Shaking his head, Virgil shook up and patted dirt from his robes and trousers. Stupid Roman and his stupid friends… Virgil was better off alone. Even if that meant earning odd looks from everyone else.

                “Virgil?” Patton’s voice cut through the chatter of the students, and Virgil glanced up to see Patton pull a chair up next to him. There was a tired, sad smile on his face as he sat down. “How ya doin’, big guy?”

                Virgil shrugged and picked at his sandwich. “I’m fine.”

                “That looked like a nasty little fall.” Patton gave his shoulder a little pat, and Virgil shrugged his hand away. He didn’t want people to see him being babied. He avoided Patton’s eye, trying to ignore the way Patton slowly put his hand into his lap. “Sorry, Virgil… I’m just worried.”

                Again, Virgil shrugged. “I know.”

                “What happened earlier, in the classroom…” Patton’s voice was uneasy as he rubbed the back of his neck. “That was pretty scary.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil nodded turning his glass of grape juice around and around. He liked to fidget. Patton didn’t mind it as they spoke. “It was pretty messed up…” he gave Patton a cautious look. “Are you… like, is your head okay?”

                After giving Virgil a long, considering look, Patton smiled. “Yeah. My head is fine, kiddo.” They sat in peaceable silence for a bit. Virgil took a bite of his sandwich and Patton leaned his chin into the palm of his hand, smiling tiredly. “Hey, Virgil.”

                “Hey, Pat,” Virgil said with his mouth full. Patton wrinkled his nose.

                “Chew your food, champ,” Patton said gently. “Why don’t you drop by our room later? Logan got his feathers all ruffled about what happened in class. I think it’d make him feel better to see you safe and sound.”

                Virgil made a face. He didn’t mind going to see Logan and Patton… it was better than getting strange looks from the other kids of the Puckwudgie dorm. But why wasn’t Logan in the cafetorium? Wasn’t he eating dinner, like everyone else?

                Patton sat back with a sigh. “Actually, after I told him what happened, he went straight to our room to, and I quote: ‘investigate.’”

                Virgil took another bite of his sandwich, trying to ignore the lingering stares on his back as he looked at Patton. “Is he gonna find out what happened?”

                With a tight-lipped smile, Patton stood up and pushed in his chair. “I sure hope so, kiddo.” He reached out to give Virgil’s hair a ruffle, rethought it, and withdrew his hand with a smile that was almost sad. “If you have the time, you should come by. I think it would be good.”

                Smoothing out the gray fabric of his robes, Patton smiled and walked through the maze of tables in the cafetorium, heading for the front of the room where the other teachers sat. Virgil watched him go, eyeing the faculty that sat at the table. They all had their own “assigned” seats, and when Patton took his seat, Logan’s seat next to him was sadly empty. He looked a little lost sitting there by himself. Virgil couldn’t let his gaze linger on Patton, though. He was distracted by the way Patrice watched him across the room. Cold, calculating eyes watched him, and when Virgil met her gaze, she didn’t look away.

                Virgil held her stare. He put fire into his gaze, eyeing the way her fingernails drummed the table where she sat. Thinking. Watching. Virgil glared until another teacher spoke to Patrice, stealing her attention. When she looked away, Virgil felt relief flood into his chest, almost like he was finally free of some horrible burden.

                Patrice didn’t look at him again after that.

+++++

                “Virgil!” Patton greeted warmly as Virgil walked into his and Logan’s bedroom. Logan sat at his desk, furiously pouring over several pages of notes. Virgil gave that a curious look before Patton gathered him up in a hug. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you, kiddo.”

                Virgil gave him a hesitant smile as he returned the hug. “Yeah… um.” He glanced at Logan again before shuffling over to the plush lounge chair in the corner of the room. “How did it go with Patrice?”

                Patton’s smiled drooped and he went to sit on the bed. He’d shed his heavy robes and was relaxing in his white shirt and blue sweater vest. In this outfit, he looked more like himself. Virgil liked that. However, Patton didn’t answer his question. Instead, Logan stood up from his desk and started pacing the room.

                “Something doesn’t add up,” Logan grumbled to himself, holding his hands behind his back as he stalked the room like a caged cat. Patton watched him tiredly as Virgil gave Logan a strangle look. Logan’s voice was low and serious as he said, “All attacks were not witnessed by any other students. Virgil earns the brunt of the attack. No one sees them happening, and yet… Patrice is there both times. How would she know unless…” he marched back to his desk, hunching over his notes and glaring down at what he’d scribbled down on the papers before him.

                Patton sighed and rubbed his temples. “He’s been at this for _hours_. He’s thinking so hard, it’s making my head hurt…”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow, watching as Logan wrote something in red ink on a paper, scowl, and write something else in black ink. Virgil lifted his feet onto the chair, wrapping his arms around his legs as he sat back against the cushions. “He’s trying to figure out what happened?”

                “No, I’m trying to figure out who is responsible,” Logan snapped. Virgil winced, and Patton demanded an apology. Logan sighed and took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “I’m sorry, Virgil. I just…” he put his glasses back on, glowering at his notes. “Patrice assured us that the well was just an unfortunate accident. And now this? This cannot be an accident. This is deliberate.” He turned to Patton with a stern expression. “She fooled us once… shame on us. She will _not_ fool us twice.”

                Patton pursed his lips and shifted on the bed uneasily. “It _was_ pretty scary.” He looked at Virgil with a sad, sorry glint behind his glasses. “I wish I could’ve heard you, kiddo. Why didn’t you say anything?”

                Virgil pursed his lips. “Well, I just –”

                “Stop, stop, stop…. You couldn’t hear him?” Logan interrupted, physically inserting himself in the situation as he walked around the room to sit next to Patton. Patton quickly looked away from Logan’s piercing stare, choosing instead to admire the carpet. Logan leaned closer, studying Patton’s mannerisms. “What do you mean you couldn’t hear him?”

                “I… I didn’t want to make you more worried,” Patton said softly, offering Logan a spare glance. “You were so upset about not knowing…”

                Logan stood and threw his hands into the air. “My son and my husband are attacked and I didn’t even know until _dinner_? It’s outrageous!”

                Virgil shrunk back into his chair, watching as Logan started to pace again. He looked like a frustrated detective, stuck on a hunch and having no other evidence to investigate. Patton squirmed where he sat, plucking at the stray strings of the quilt on the bed.

                “I couldn’t hear any thoughts, Logan. I was a little distracted.”

                Logan stopped in his tracks. “Couldn’t hear… are you sure? Absolutely certain?”

                Patton gave Logan a funny look. “I think I’d notice the lack of voices in my head, honey.”

                “Yes, of course, but…” Logan rubbed his chin, starting to pace the room again, slower this time. “Though there _are_ spells that can neutralize legilimency, they are very difficult to perform. They take an immense amount of magical skill and precision to perform, not to mention…” he started to mumble, talking more to himself than the other two people in the room.

                Patton sighed. “Well, this isn’t very fun…” he gave Virgil a smile. “I’m glad you dropped by, though… I’ve been worried about you all day.”

                Virgil shrugged loosely. “I was okay… I didn’t almost drown this time.” He tried to play it off as a joke, but Patton didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He watched Virgil with tired, concerned eyes. Virgil looked away. “Seriously, I’m… I’m okay. It didn’t really hurt or anything.”

                Patton frowned and leaned back, crossing his legs, right over left. “Still… you were pretty far across the room, kiddo. I don’t like the implications behind that… maybe we should…” he paused, and his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe… we should take a little break from school? Maybe it was too soon to get you involved in all this. Something strange is going on here.”

                Virgil blinked. Patton wanted to pull him out of school? That would put him even _further_ behind his classmates. He was already struggling under mounds of homework, and Patton wanted to make it worse? At that, Patton’s expression darkened, and he frowned at Virgil.

                “I’m trying to think of your health and safety, Virgil,” said Patton in a low, fatherly tone. “I just want you to be safe. And if that means taking you out of school for just a little while, maybe... maybe that would be a good thing.”

                Virgil turned to Logan, desperately hoping that he would disagree with this course of action. Logan had always been so adamant about his education. He wouldn’t let Patton pull Virgil out of school… would he?

                Still pacing and unaware of the conversation, Logan muttered under his breath, “But no one… _no one_ in the faculty is aware of Patton’s legilimency… except…” Logan stopped mid-step to look at Patton. “Except… Naroona.”

                Virgil blinked. Patrice knew about Patton’s legilimency. So what? That didn’t mean she was culprit, did it? Virgil paused for a moment, mulling the possibility. Maybe… maybe she _was_ the attacker. She disliked Patton and Logan. She obviously didn’t care for Virgil. And somehow, she’d been there after each incident, just waiting to corner Virgil and demand an explanation from all parties involved.

                Looking to Patton, Virgil saw Patton’s eyes widen with disbelief. He stared at the floor, probably sifting through all of Logan’s complex, drawn-out theories that rattled around in his brain. Logan tapped his chin with his index finger, his eyes narrowed as he stood in the center of the room.

                “She would be able to do it,” Logan said to himself. “But to think she would attack a _child_.” His scowl was downright furious as he growled, “That damned witch.”

                Patton snapped himself out of Logan’s thoughts and gave his husband a flabbergasted look. “Logan! Language!”

                Logan waved Patton’s comment away, grabbing his black cloak from the back of his desk chair and throwing it on with haste. “Never mind that, Patton. I think I need to have a word with Ms. Patrice.”

                Vigil sat up. “You’re gonna ask her about it?”

                “I’m going to do one better,” Logan said as he closed the clasp of his robe. “I’m going to accuse her of attempted murder.”

                Patton went a little pale as he jumped up and blocked the door. “N-now let’s all clam down! Just because some dots connect doesn’t mean we see the whole picture!”

                Logan reached for the doorknob, unamused by Patton’s attempt to stop him. “Step aside, Patton. Patrice could have killed the two of you with the stunt she pulled.”

                Patton didn’t budge from the door. “She could have killed _all_ of my students, Logan. She’s an extremely adept witch.” She gave Logan a sharp look. “Doesn’t going to see her alone seem a little… rash?”

                Logan huffed and tried to move Patton to no avail. “She should be confronted!”

                “She should be investigated by the proper authorities,” Patton responded readily, his hands coming up to cup Logan’s cheeks. “Sweetheart… I know you want to keep us safe. But we want you to be safe, too.” He smiled, and Virgil knew it was the smile that could melt Logan’s heart. Patton pulled Logan away from the door, sitting him down on the bed and holding his hand. “I need both of my boys,” he said with a smile, giving Virgil a fond look. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

                Virgil gave Logan and Patton a small, shy smile. Logan sighed, seemingly giving in. He glanced at Virgil, almost looking apologetic as he reached over to give Virgil’s knee a pat.

                “We’ll fix this,” he promised sternly. His brow was still furrowed with thought, and his dark blue eyes glinted intelligently behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “I don’t want anything like this happening again… to either of you.”

                Patton smiled at that, but Virgil was stuck on one thought. “How can you fix it? Is there like…” Virgil waved his fingers awkwardly. “Like some sort of… school counsel you can report her to?”

                Logan sat back and straightened his glasses. “There is, but I’m going to report her to the MACUSA department of magical law enforcement. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have a reason to leave the investigations ward.”

                Virgil blinked. “So… they’re like… magic police?”

                Patton leaned his head on Logan’s shoulder with a tired look on his face. “They’re called ‘Aurors,’ Virgil. And yeah, they’re magic police…” He blinked tiredly. “I just hope they can settle this. I don’t think my heart can handle another scare.”

                After giving the back of Patton’s hand a kiss, Logan stood up and walked back to his desk. “I’ll write up a letter now… that way, I can send it out first thing tomorrow morning.”

                Virgil watched him quietly. Logan sounded so _tired_. He’d been mulling over the attacks for several hours, according to Patton. It was no wonder he was exhausted. And Patton… Patton looked tired too. He had one of his senses taken away and restored all in the span of one day. It was no wonder they wanted this to be over. Virgil couldn’t help but agree. The less his family was in danger… the better.

+++++

                The days after Logan sent his claim and evidence to the MACUSA began to bleed together. A week passed… each afternoon muddled into one, misremembered jumble. Virgil’s notes were a mess. Tests were becoming more difficult to push through. And despite the lack of strange, unexplainable attacks, Virgil still couldn’t sleep.

                Lately, his dreams had been centering on the sound of a scream. It sounded like Patton. Patton howling Virgil’s name in a heartbroken, desperate screech. Like Virgil was falling away, and Patton couldn’t reach him. Far, far away… impossible to reach. To save. To love.

                He could see flashes of Logan’s face – terrified. Mortified. Stupefied. – and Virgil didn’t know what was scaring him. Was it Virgil? Was he afraid of the terrible things Virgil would bring upon their family? He never figured it out. He simply woke from these dreams – with a gasp, not a scream anymore – and found it impossible to relax again.

                That particular morning had been oddly different.

                Virgil sat up in bed blearily, rubbing his eyes. For a moment, he was confused. Light was pouring through the windows. He frowned. He almost always woke up before dawn. Had he slipped back into a restless dream? He licked his lips and stretched his arms above his head. He felt… well, he felt good. Almost comfortable. Had he slept through the night?

                Slipping out of bed, he walked to window, looking down at the campus. He blinked; there were people outside. Several students were shooting through the air on their brooms. A teacher, or perhaps a coach, was watching them, evaluating their speed and technique. This didn’t bother him. Quidditch try-out posters had been pasted all over the school for weeks. Virgil swore the try-outs were supposed to be held in the afternoon, though… and, was that Roman Prince flying through the air?

Virgil watched with confusion. There were so many people down on the campus grounds. Why were they all up and outside before glasses? Students milling about their day. Some were eating. Virgil squinted; they weren’t allowed to eat breakfast outside. It must’ve been lunch. His eyes went wide. What time was it? Had he really slept until noon?

                Scrambling in his bag, he found the emergency cellphone that Dahlia had gifted him. The screen read 1:15 pm. Virgil felt his mouth run dry. He’d slept through his morning classes… and if he didn’t hurry, he wouldn’t be able to get lunch.

                Virgil was halfway dressed in his school cardigan as he raced down the Puckwudgie tower stairs. He tripped over his feet a few times, but he kept going. He could make it. Logan and Patton wouldn’t have to know. Or… maybe they would. Did teachers brag about students that missed classes? A bell rang, signaling the end of their lunch period. Virgil bit his lip and glanced out one of the windows that lined the outside edge of the tower. Students started to file back in, toward the school. Virgil walked a little faster, holding the strap of his bookbag against his chest as he went.

                For a moment, he thought he could make it. If he ran through the halls… no, if he _sprinted_ , he might be able to make it to Logan’s class. Stumbling down the spiral staircase was an endeavor in and of itself, and Virgil kept having to move his school robes away from his legs before he tripped.

                He’d made it down to the fifth floor when he felt it; the familiar weight of strange, heavy hands on his shoulders. The hands with no body. The hands that always caused trouble. Virgil only had a split second to brace himself as he was thrown harshly to the left. It would’ve been fine if he’d been a little further down the stairs. Then, he would have hit the wall. But he wasn’t so lucky.

                No… he was thrown right through the stained-glass window that overlooked the school grounds.

                Did he scream? He couldn’t remember. He felt himself hurtling through the air, down, down, down… the world bled together as he fell. Wind howled in his ears. He was falling. From the fifth story… wouldn’t a fall from that height kill someone? He twisted in the air, his mind racing as the ground came up to meet him. He was going to die. Going to hit the ground. Would it hurt?

                Something wrenched Virgil’s arm, and Virgil let out a howl of pain. His fall halted for a moment. A hand. A hand had grasped his arm. Who could catch him in midair? Virgil’s question was answered when Virgil looked up just in time to see Roman Prince slip off his broom.

                They both continued their fall… but they hit the ground faster than Virgil was expecting. Virgil’s shoulder hit the ground first, and pain erupted through his collarbone. Was that a _snap_ that he heard? Virgil felt his throat burn… was he still screaming? He clapped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth as he took in shallow, uneven breaths. He was alive… but now his arm was on fire. He tried to roll off of it, splaying across the grass with a breathless huff. Next to him, Roman Prince was screaming bloody murder.

                “My arm!” He screeched, writhing on the grass as he gripped his right bicep. “I think you almost ripped my arm off!”

                “ _You_ caught _me,_ you idiot! How is this _my_ fault?” Virgil growled as he felt pain bloom anew in his shoulder.

                The adrenaline from falling was still coursing through his blood, but pain still seeped through to his nerves. Each breath made it worse. Had he broken something? With the way Roman caught him, he wouldn’t be surprised to know that both of their arms had been strained – or broken – by the jarring trauma.

                People were racing toward them. Virgil recognized the quidditch coach as he raced toward the two of them. His robes flared at his legs as he ran, his face red with exertion as he stumbled to a stop between the two of them. He gave both a horrified look, unsure of which child to console first. He finally settled on telling a few upperclassmen to retrieve the school nurse before he knelt down next to Virgil and gave him a shake of his head.

                “By Morrigan, what the _hell_ were you thinking jumping from there?” His voice was ragged from running, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Virgil bit back a sob as pain bolted down his arm and into his fingertips. The teacher shook his head. “That fall could’ve killed you...” he glanced toward Roman, giving the boy a small smile. “It’s good to managed to catch him. You were a real hero, Roman.”

                Virgil grit his teeth and hissed, “I _didn’t_ jump,” he felt hot tears sting at his eyes, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. The coach gave Virgil a confused look. Virgil blinked, feeling tears roll back and into his hair. “I was pushed!”

                Virgil didn’t hear the coach’s response as Roman began to cry. He wailed and kicked his legs, letting out loud, angry sobs that left him gasping for breath. He cried about his arm. He cried about how Virgil ruined his tryout for the quidditch team. He cried about twisting his wrist when he fell from his broom. And Virgil… Virgil didn’t say anything. He just let himself cry.

                He wanted Patton to hold his hand and tell him he’d be okay. He wanted Logan to reassure him that he was safe, to stand next to him with that calming, serious smile. Virgil hiccupped and felt pain spark down his arm again. He closed his eyes tight. He wanted the attacks to stop. He wanted Roman to stop yelling. He wanted… Virgil felt his heart hurt with strain as he cried. He wanted his parents.

                He was loaded onto a cotton stretcher and carried to the infirmary alongside Roman. As they were toted through the halls, Virgil craned his neck, watching the people around them. The fall had been caused by those strange, disembodied hands… he’d been pushed out a window. And yet, Patrice was nowhere to be found. Virgil frowned at the thought that she was out of sight; if she could hide herself so easily, what was to stop her from continuing the attacks every single day?

                These thoughts pooled and muddled in his brain as Virgil was lifted from the stretcher and onto one of the beds of the infirmary. The school nurse fluttered over Virgil’s shoulder, waving her wand through the air around the offended arm.

                She tutted and tucked her wand into her long pocket. “Yanked it right out the socket…”

                Virgil felt his stomach do a strange, sickening flop. “That’s… that’s pretty bad… right?”

                “It’s fixable…” The nurse paused and gave him a tired, knowing smile. “But it’s not pleasant.”

                In the bed next to Virgil, Roman let out a sad whimper. “Are you going to cut my arm off? I can’t feel my fingers!”

                “That’s shock, Mr. Prince,” The nurse said gently, mixing a few different liquids in a small glass on the bedside table. “I will have to drink this, Mr. Sanders… it’ll make things a little tingly, but it should help the pain.” The mixed the grey liquid with a glass stirrer, tapping it on the rim of the glass before holding it to Virgil’s lips. Virgil leaned back and away, and the nurse gave him a smile. “Drink this, and it won’t hurt nearly as much when I reset your shoulder.”

                With that promise, Virgil sighed and leaned forward a bit. The rim of the glass touched his lips, and he forced himself to open his mouth and take a drink. The liquid on his tongue was… well, it was _something_. It was bitter. And spicy. And it almost made his tongue burn as he took a small sip. He drew back, gagging on the liquid. His body instinctively tensed – that puled at his dislocated shoulder, and he let out an alarmed, pained shout.

                But, all too soon, the pain was gone. Virgil’s burning, tingling tongue went numb, and the hot, blistering pain in his shoulder melted away. The nurse walked around the bed, keeping an eye on Virgil was she assessed Roman’s injuries. He’d dislocated his elbow in his attempt to catch Virgil. His ankle was also sprained from the fall. Virgil watched with tired, heavy-lidded eyes, as Roman was forced to drink the same disgusting concoction.

                His resulting face was priceless.

                The nurse bound Roman’s foot quickly, and while Roman watched with passive, sleepy eyes, the nurse _popped_ his elbow back into place. His arm was then put into a sling. Then she came back to Virgil. He eyed her carefully, still not sure if the shoulder reset would hurt. The nurse lifted his arm – no pain. She braced his shoulder – still no pain. She counted to three, then Virgil felt his body jolt as his arm _cracked_ and went back into place. His own arm was put in a sling, just like Roman’s.

                And that was that. They were fixed, being kept overnight to assure that they hadn’t gotten concussions with the fall. Virgil sighed and laid back against his pillow. Logan and Patton were going to hear about the accident. Would they believe the quidditch coach that said Virgil had jumped? Would Logan blame Patrice? Virgil blinked tiredly, flexing his numb, tingly fingers. Logan had written to the MACUSA a while ago… perhaps this newest “accident” would be incentive enough for them to investigate Patrice.

                Wiggling his toes, Virgil sighed. Maybe everything would stop, now. People always said “the third time is the charm,” so maybe this fall would be the end of it.

                “This is _your_ fault,” Roman grumbled dejectedly. That pulled Virgil out of his thoughts, and he turned his head to see Roman glaring at him with those bright, angry blue eyes. Virgil frowned.

                “What?”

                “You _ruined_ my quidditch tryout,” Roman pouted, waving at his damaged arm and leg. “And now, even if I _am_ picked to be on a team, I’m all banged up!”

                Virgil rolled his eyes and pointedly looked away. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have caught me.”

                Roman huffed at that, shifting on his bed. “I was trying to be heroic.” There was a pause, and then Roman muttered, “It’s what a Prince does.”

                Finally looking back to Roman, Virgil gave him an irritated glare. “You know you’re not _actually_ a Prince, right? It’s just a surname. And you’re just obnoxious.”

                Roman sputtered indignantly as he struggled for words. “Well… _you’re_ just the weirdo who jumps out of towers!”

                “I didn’t jump!” Virgil shouted. Both of them paused, glancing toward the door of the infirmary. No one came. The nurse hadn’t heard him shout. Virgil looked back to Roman with fire in his eyes. “I was _pushed,_ you moron.”

                Roman snorted. “ _Sure_. And the classroom just _happened_ to go pitch-black. And you just _happened_ to fall into that bookshelf. And your dad just _happened_ to be called to the Principal’s office because of it.” He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Everyone knows that you did it.” Shaking his head, Virgil kicked off the thin, cotton blanket over his legs. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shakily standing up. Roman paled at the sight. “Wh-where are you going?”

                “Away from you,” Virgil grumbled as he shuffled across the infirmary. “You don’t know what I’ve been going through, and I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you blame me.”

                “That’s not fair!” Roman cried. “You can’t just leave me here! My ankle is sprained!”

                Virgil turned to give Roman an odd look. “You… you’re unbelievable.”

                Roman looked offended by that. “What was _that_ for?”

                “I mean, you… you’re just…” Virgil waved his left arm through the air in irritation. “You’ve made fun of me for the past two months! You keep pointing out that I’m not as good as you, and I _never_ will be. And now you’re mad because I’m walking away?” He let out an exasperated breath as roman sat, quiet and confused. “I mean… what do you want from me?”

                Roman squirmed under the interrogation, picking at the fabric of his arm sling. “I… I was just messin’ around. It’s not like I was bullying you.” He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “I mean… you’re a No-Maj kid. We were just joking.”

                Virgil narrowed his eyes. “No, you weren’t. You know you weren’t. You made that pretty frickin’ clear the first day of class.” Roman’s eyes went wide. Had he never been told he was wrong before? Probably not. He had a terribly large ego. Virgil was happy to make it shrink a little. He pointed an accusing finger at the other boy. “It’s your fault I don’t have any friends. It’s your fault I’m just some weird outcast.” He blinked, feeling realization settle into his bones. “You know what… I wouldn’t be surprised if _you_ were the one behind all these attacks.”

                Roman baulked at the accusation. His eyes were still wide, but now fear glittered in his sky-blue eyes. Virgil could see it from across the room. Was he afraid of being blamed for something he didn’t do… or was he scared that he was being caught in the act? Virgil wasn’t quite sure yet.

                “Y-you’re stupid!” Roman managed to stutter. “I wouldn’t do that stuff to anyone! I’m a Prince! Prince’s don’t hurt people unless they’re bad-guys!”

                Huffing crossly, Virgil pointed to his own chest. “Yeah, well… _I’m_ not the bad-guy! So why is all this stuff happening to me?”

                “I don’t know!” Roman threw his left hand in the air. “Why does _anything_ happen? I don’t have all the answers, you Creepy-McCreeperson! I’m a Prince, not a…” he wiggled his fingers dramatically. “Not a… book person.”

                Virgil rolled his eyes. “For the last time, Prince is just –”

                “A surname,” a new voice entered the conversation, coming from the door behind Virgil.

                Feeling his heart stutter fearfully, Virgil watched Roman’s reaction. The other boy had clamped his mouth shut and was watching the person behind Virgil with wide, fearful eyes. Virgil fought the urge to run. He knew who it was. He’d heard the voice enough to have memorized her intimidating tone.

                Patrice spoke in clear, even tones. “Mr. Sanders, I do believe you should be in bed, resting.” Virgil turned to see Patrice looking down at him with those heavy-lidded, cutting eyes of steel-gray and metallic eyeshadow. She smiled at him. Virgil didn’t smile back. Did she know about the letter Logan sent to MACUSA? Did she know she would be interrogated? She made no move to confirm or deny. She simply nodded Virgil toward his bed. “I heard about your… unfortunate fall. Your fathers will be notified at once.”

                Virgil stepped back and away from Patrice slowly. He didn’t take his eyes off of her. Roman was there… but was he enough of a witness to keep Virgil safe? He didn’t know. He simply backtracked his way to his cot, starting when the back of his knees hit the bed and he collapsed back onto the stiff mat. Patrice watched him from the doorway, her hands clasped together and her smile ever-present.

                “The fifth floor of the Puckwudgie tower,” Patrice said slowly as she made her way around the perimeter of the room. “A fall from that height would have killed anyone.” She turned to give Roman a tight-lipped smile. “You were very heroic, Mr. Prince. I commend your fast-thinking and kind heart for catching our dear Mr. Sanders.”

                Roman didn’t say anything. He didn’t even preen at the praise. In fact, he looked a little sick. Virgil wasn’t surprised. Patrice had that effect on people. She tended to make even the most prideful of people silent. Virgil watched as Patrice continued her round of the infirmary, giving the curtains a gentle pass of her hand as she walked by with sooth, relaxed steps.

                “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Mr. Sanders… I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of these… odd happenings.” She clasped her hands together and gave Virgil a weary look. “It’s peculiar that these attacks happen when you are entirely alone. And, given your trouble with Mr. Prince, one must wonder…” She narrowed her eyes, “Were these events truly accidents at all?”

                Virgil blinked spastically. “What?”

                Patrice lowered her chin a bit, looking at Virgil through thick, perfect eyelashes. “You have been pushed, thrown, and now tossed out a window by… ‘invisible hands.’ I’m beginning to think that these hands were no one else’s but your own.”

                Virgil blinked. She thought he was doing all of this to himself? For what? Attention? He looked to Roman, seeing nothing but confusion on the other student’s face. Virgil turned back to Patrice, his throat tight with anxiety. He opened his mouth to deny her question, but the door to the infirmary flew open before he had the chance.

                “Virgil!” Patton’s voice rang through the room as he burst through the door with Logan at his heels. Virgil noticed the way Logan’s pace slowed and stuttered when he saw Patrice, but he turned away from Patrice after a moment and focused on Virgil. Patton sat on the right side of Virgil’s bed, throwing his arms around Virgil and pulling him in for a hug. “Virgil, sweetheart! I know things have been hard, and I know you’re going through a lot of confusing things, but…” he sat back, cupping Virgil’s cheeks and looking into his eyes. “You… you should’ve _said_ something if you were feeling like this.”

                Virgil blinked. “Feeling… what?”

                Logan sat at his left side, placing a hand over Virgil’s as he visibly tried to maintain his composure. “Virgil… perhaps we… we could have you speak to someone. Someone outside of Ilvermorny. My brother is an excellent phycologist. If… if you need to talk to him about your struggles…” Logan swallowed thickly and straightened his glasses. “Any amount of time is worth spending if it will stop you from doing the unthinkable.”

                Virgil let out a sigh. They thought he’d jumped. With the way he fell, he wouldn’t be surprised if _everyone_ thought he had jumped. Did everyone think he was suicidal? Would that add to their crazy theories that he was the one to cause these attacks?

                Patton’s fingers were gentle as they brushed Virgil’s bangs out of his eyes, looking at him over the edge of his glasses. There were tears that glimmered in Patton’s hazel eyes, and the sight of Patton almost crying made Virgil’s stomach hurt. Patton’s lips trembled as he said, “You could have talked to us, Virgil,” he whispered, his brow furrowing as he fought to keep his tears back. Virgil felt his face burn with shame as Patton pressed their foreheads together. “We love you, Virgil… so, so much. The fact that you… you even _tried_ to do something like this…”

                Logan squeezed Virgil’s hand. “Maybe… maybe if we had done better,” he said with a shuddering breath. “If we’d tried harder to make you feel… wanted…” his statement trailed of uncomfortably as Logan ducked his chin, staring pointedly at the floor.

                “I… I didn’t jump,” Virgil mumbled softly. Patton sat back with a weary shake of his head, and Logan simply took a deep, shaking breath. Virgil squeezed Logan’s hand, looking back and forth between his parents. “I _didn’t._ I swear I didn’t jump.”

                Patton took off his glasses as tears started to overflow, and he wiped furiously at the trails they left on his cheeks. “Virgil, just… please don’t try to lie to me. That makes it hurt even more.”

                Virgil frowned and leaned away from Patton. He thought of the tower. He recalled each minute. Each second. The feeling of hands on his shoulders. The feeling of being pushed – no, _slammed_ through the stained-glass window. He thought as hard as he could, hoping that his own memory would be proof enough for Patton to believe him.

                Patton – warm, tearful Patton – blinked with recognition. He met Virgil’s gaze with wide eyes. He understood. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a cry for help, and it _wasn’t_ an attempt to end his life. The attacks hadn’t stopped. Part of Virgil wondered if they ever would. Patton cupped Virgil’s cheeks again, pulling him forward to place a soft, shaking kiss to his forehead.

                “You are _so_ brave, Virgil,” he whispered as he sat back. There was a smile on his face, but there wasn’t any joy in the expression. In fact, he looked exhausted. Patton looked to Logan, giving his husband a small, relieved shake of his head. “I don’t think we need to call Emile just yet, Logan.”

                Before Logan could open his mouth, Patrice cleared her throat. “I understand that you may trust your son, but you must remember, he’s just a child.” Her voice was sharp and cutting as she looked to Virgil and said, “This is the third time such an event has occurred near Virgil… I find it extremely unlikely that this is coincidence.”

                “I concur,” Logan said lowly, casting a burning glare at Patrice over his shoulder. “I defeinately think there is something more happening here.”

                “Like a super-villain?” Roman piped up from the other bed. All eyes turned to him, and Virgil shook his head as Roman practically vibrated with energy as he asked, “Is there a super evil magic villain in Ilvermorny? Does that make me the hero?” He grinned as Logan quirked an eyebrow. “I _caught_ Virgil, after all. It would make sense that I’m the hero.”

                Patrice’s lips twitched from their normal, fake smile, and turned into something like a grimace. Her eyes narrowed as she looked across the room, pointedly avoiding the gaze of anyone else in the room. “This will need to be investigated.” She turned to Logan and Patton after a few moments of silence. “Unless you have something to hide, Mr. and Mr. Sanders?”

                Logan stood from Virgil’s bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood his ground. “Oh, I _insist_ that this is investigated. In fact, I’ll petition the school board myself, if I have to.”

                Next to Virgil, Patton stiffly watched Patrice. Trying to soothe him, Virgil put his good hand in Patton’s. Patton smiled at that, but it didn’t remove the tension in his shoulders. He looked like he was a coiled spring about to snap with the way he watched Logan and Patrice.

                Roman, of course, was oblivious to the atmosphere in the room.

                “Are there gonna be Aurors in Ilvermorny?” He asked with a star-struck expression. He sat up in bed, looking back and forth between Logan and Patrice. “Will they find the bad-guy?”

                “They sure will, champ,” Patton smiled. “Then everyone will be safe.”

                Logan and Patrice were quiet. Neither agreed… but neither disagreed. They stayed like that for a solid minute, chins raised defiantly and eyes scanning the other for weakness. During that time, Roman was uncharacteristically quiet. He’d started to notice the discomfort in the infirmary, and he silently watched Logan and Patrice’s stare down.

                Virgil squeezed Patton’s hand for reassurance, and was glad to feel Patton to squeeze his fingers in return. When Patrice left, she did so without a goodbye. She didn’t even blink as she turned on her heel and stalked out of the infirmary. Logan, however, stood still in his place, only turning his head to watch her go.

                The dark glint in his eyes never left.

+++++

                Virgil laid awake that night, staring up at the infirmary. It was odd to be on the ground floor. It was even stranger to be lying in a bed right next to Roman Prince’s. He couldn’t help but be restless… it was a new place. A strange place. He couldn’t sleep.

                So he took deep, slow breaths. He listened to Roman mumble inaudibly in his sleep. He wiggled his fingers and toes, trying to shake the anxiety out of his body. It didn’t work. The old clock on the wall _tick-tock-ticked_  the minutes and hours away. Ten o’clock. Eleven o’clock. Midnight… Virgil laid staring up at the high rafters and stone walls. His eyes were tired. His body ached from the fall. But he couldn’t sleep. If he slept, he would have nightmares. He would wake up… and possibly startle Roman awake. He didn’t want to give Roman anything else to make fun of… so he laid back and sighed.

                The door to the infirmary opened with a low, creaking groan. Virgil started at the sound. Was it the nurse? He closed his eyes on instinct, trying to feign sleep as soft, careful feet stepped into the room. The steps got closer. Virgil felt his pulse start to race. Who was it? He couldn’t open his eyes. Then he’d be caught. The footsteps were even closer now. Virgil felt his body tense up. He was scared. Was it the attacker? Did they think he was asleep? Would they… would they kill him?

                “You aren’t very good at pretending to be asleep,” the stranger said lowly. The voice was familiar, and there was laughter in the voice. It was almost condescending as they stood over Virgil’s bed. Virgil’s eyes snapped open. Patrice stood over him with a tired, irritated smile. “You’re _so_ like your father in that sense. It’s funny,” she sat on the edge of Virgil’s bed, staring at the opposite wall. “You’ve been with them less than a year and yet…” she sighed, and Virgil almost heard regret in her voice as she muttered, “You’re just like _him_.”

                Virgil’s brow furrowed. His jaw clenched. What was Patrice doing here? Why was she talking to him? It was past midnight. Did she know about the letter Logan sent to the MACUSA? Did she know she was about to be investigated? Had she come to smother Virgil in his sleep?

                Patrice turned to give Virgil a pointed look. “You’re afraid of me.”

                It wasn’t a question. Virgil only blinked in response, quickly trying to assess all points of escape in the room. He wished Patton or Logan had stayed overnight… but he didn’t want to seem like a baby next to Roman. So he’d told them he’d be fine. He said he didn’t need them to stay. That was a mistake. Now he was all alone.

                “That’s a good thing." Setting her hands in her lap, Patrice nodded approvingly. “You _should_ be afraid of me. I am an extremely adept witch.”

                Virgil bit the side of his tongue. What did she _want_ from him? Was she just there to scare him? It was working. He was terrified. He wanted to run. To escape. But he didn’t dare take his eyes off her. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to see the attack coming. He wouldn’t be able to brace himself.

                So, instead of tripping over himself in his haste to get out of the room, he sat stiff and suspect, watching Patrice as she gave him a slow, considering onceover.

                “Your father has filed a complaint against me,” she said lowly. Again, it wasn’t a question. Virgil laid motionless, staring at Patrice as she inspected her fingernails. “It won’t be long until the MACUSA sends Aurors and officials to investigate these odd happenings. Which will be excellent,” she gave Virgil a wry smile. “It will give me the justification I deserve.”

                Going against all better judgement, Virgil parted his dry lips and muttered, “Justification?”

                Patrice nodded and stood from his bed. “Yes. Your father has taken up this matter with the MACUSA… do you think any person has that privilege? Do you think _Patton_ would be able to attract and hold the attention of the MACUSA so easily?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she stood at the foot of Virgil’s bed, leaning her hands against the railing at the end. “No. He wouldn’t. Logan is privileged. His _family_ is privileged. This investigation will only prove fruitless. I am not your attacker, Virgil. I never was.”

                Virgil swallowed thickly. She wasn’t his attacker? How could he just take that claim at face-value? She could be lying. She could be trying to scare him into compliance. He wouldn’t fall for it. He continued to glare at her as she came back to stand over the head of his bed.

                “I am _not_ responsible for what has happened to you, Virgil, though I sorely wish that I was.” She didn’t smile when she said this. She was dark and serious as she said. “Your fathers would deserve the torment. Both of them. But I am not to blame,” she leaned close and whispered, “But you had better _pray_ that whoever is responsible is found quickly.”

                With that, Patrice stood up straight, turned, and walked toward the door. Virgil watched her go, his heart in his throat and hands shaking. He felt sick. He wanted to cry. But he didn’t dare move until Patrice was out of sight.

                He watched as she opened the door slowly. He watched as she stepped out the door. He watched… as a burst of light flickered in the doorway. There was a dull, earthy _thud_ in the hallway. Virgil’s brow furrowed. Had she Apparated? He frowned. Apparition wasn’t possible on school grounds.

                “That… was the creepiest thing… I’ve ever heard,” Roman whispered.

                Virgil’s head snapped to the left, seeing Roman’s wide eyes through the dim light of the infirmary. Virgil hadn’t even known that he was awake. But there he was, eyes open and mouth agape as he stared at Virgil.

                “She… she looked like she was gonna kill you,” Roman said lowly. Then he glanced at the door. Virgil followed his gaze, seeing the door still ajar. Light from the hallways spilled into the infirmary, and Roman’s voice was a little breathless as he murmured, “What was that sound out there?”

                Virgil pursed his lips. “I dunno.”

                There was a beat of silence, and then Roman said, “Go look.”

                Virgil turned to glare at Roman. “What?”

                “Go _look,_ ” Roman insisted, sitting up and waving Virgil toward the door. “I can’t get up, my foot is all weird,” he indicated needlessly to his tightly wrapped ankle. “Go look!”

                “Ugh, fine!” Virgil sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, tenderly holding his sore arm and shoulder as he stood up shakily. At first, there was spite for Roman fueling his movement… but now that he was standing, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what was at the door.

                The attacker could have been there. Patrice could have been baiting him into the hallway. She could grab him. She could kill him. If Virgil needed help, Roman wouldn’t be able to get out of bed and save him. So, with careful, shuffling steps, he slowly made his way to the door.

                Leaning over a little, Virgil tugged on his sweater sleeve as he peeked out the door. There were just a few inches of space between the edge of the door and the doorframe. Just a small sliver of the hall light spilled over his socked feet. In the gap of the door, Virgil could see a slight shadow. The shape of _something_ just outside the door. It was low to the ground, like Patrice had dropped something on her way out of the infirmary.

                Virgil frowned. Maybe she dropped a bunch of potion ingredients outside the door… maybe it was releasing more noxious gases, just like what happened in Patton’s class. Pulling up the collar of his sweater, Virgil covered his mouth and nose. Just in case. Reaching for the handle, Virgil pulled it open a bit, and stopped. Virgil’s collar fell from his face. He stared down with wide, horrified eyes.

                “What is it?” Roman asked, his voice pitched toward excited curiosity. “Virgil, _what is it_?”

                 Virgil opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. There weren’t adequate words for what he was seeing. He was confused. Afraid. He felt like he was going to vomit. He stumbled back, distancing himself from the body that laid, stiff and lifeless on the hallway floor.

                Naroona J. Patrice lay face-down on the marble floor, her face still turned toward the infirmary. Her eyes were still open, and Virgil had almost expected to see them blink… but they never did. Now they were glazed and glassy, staring listlessly into the distance beyond Virgil. There wasn’t any blood. No wounds. No weapon. Virgil hadn’t even heard anything happen. But there she was.

                Naroona J. Patrice was dead.


	8. Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of Suicide

                The shutter and _pop_ of old-fashioned camera lightbulbs flashing as they took pictures rang like gunfire in the still, cold air. Soft, fervent whispers echoed in the corners of the room as people steadily filled the infirmary. Aurors lined the hallway outside, creating a solid wall of human bodies that locked out interlopers and caged the innocent inside.

                Virgil had been sat on his infirmary cot once more by a gentle-voiced woman. Soft eyes and warm hands settled on his shoulders, consoling him and commending his decision to call for help. She was an Auror. Virgil didn’t remember her name. He just kept looking at the open doors of the infirmary… at the spot where Patrice was once laid. Where she had breathed her last breath. Where Virgil had found her in the middle of the night. It made him sick to his stomach.

                The Aurors had been contacted immediately. They arrived through the former-Principals office by floo powder. Patrice’s body had been carried away. Pictures were still being taken. Aurors were scanning every nook and cranny of the Infirmary, sniffing out traces of dark magic. Roman and Virgil were the only non-Aurors in the room… and they weren’t allowed leave.

By the time the sun rose, the school was officially on lockdown.

                “I want my dad,” Roman muttered softly in the bed next to Virgil. Looking over his shoulder, Virgil saw the way Roman glanced between the Auror’s fearfully. When he caught Virgil looking at him, he shakily smiled. “This is scary.”

                Virgil nodded tiredly. He wanted Patton and Logan to be there, comforting him. But they were probably sealed in the teacher’s dorms, not allowed to go anywhere near the infirmary. Picking at the fabric of his arm sling, Virgil sighed. “Yeah.”

                The familiar woman approached Virgil with a clipboard of papers. She sat next to him on the cot, giving him a sad smile. “Hey guys. Virgil and Roman, right? This must be really scary. You’ve been really brave through this whole thing.” She tapped the clipboard a few times. “I just have a few questions and then we’ll get you boys to your dorms. Sound good?”

                Virgil shrugged. He just wanted to be with Patton and Logan… could he go to them instead? He didn’t bother to ask as the Auror took out an old fountain pen and started asking questions. She wanted their names. Their ages. Why they were in the infirmary. Mostly, she wanted to know what happened specifically before Patrice was killed. Roman _adored_ telling his side of the story.

                “… and she was all creepy and whispering to Virgil about the attacks and how he deserved it. How messed up is that?” Roman said as he waved his good hand through the air animatedly. The Auror wrote down this detail, giving Virgil a sparing glance as she listened to Roman’s testimony. “Then she went to the door and we heard this noise. Kinda like a… _bump_. No! More like a _whump_! And I told Virgil to go check it out. And he found her laying there.”

                Virgil nodded along with Roman’s recount of the night’s events. He couldn’t have said it better himself. Well, he _could_ have, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to get out of the infirmary. Away from this craziness. More than anything, he wanted to be in Patton and Logan’s protective presence before another attack occurred.

                The Auror nodded her head thoughtfully, scribbling down a few things. “We’ve received a special report on those… ‘attacks’ on Ilvermorny, and _you_ specifically, Virgil. Here is my question: why would she say you deserved those attacks?”

                Virgil stomach churned. Was she accusing him? No, she couldn’t really blame him… he wouldn’t be strong enough to hurt her… or anyone, for that matter. But his family… Virgil’s eyes went wide. She thought Logan or Patton might’ve done something.

                Giving her a sidelong glance, Virgil shrugged. “I… I don’t know? I was adopted this summer, so…” he trailed off and shrugged again. “I really don’t know about Patrice. All I know is that she was really mean to us.”

                Cocking her head to the side, the Auror narrowed her eyes. “Nothing at all? I find it hard to believe your father wouldn’t talk to you about his own sister.”

                Virgil’s head snapped up, giving the Auror a horrified look. “What?”

                Behind him, Roman squeaked with excitement. “Oh, _plot twist!_ ”

                Waving his hand at Roman dismissively, Virgil quickly hissed, “Shut up, Princey,” before he turned back to the Auror. “So, wait… she was… she was my aunt?”

                The Auror leaned back. “You really didn’t know.”

                “No!” Virgil shouted, gaining the attention of every Auror in the infirmary. They turned to give him a curious look, and Virgil ducked his head as he repeated, “No… I didn’t.”

                “Very interesting,” the Auror mumbled as she wrote something down on her clipboard. She then gave Roman and Virgil another smile. “Thank you for being patient, boys. We’ll get you out of here in a few minutes.”

                She stood up and went to her group of Aurors, eagerly telling them about this new information. Hopefully, this meant Virgil wasn’t being considered as a suspect anymore. However… this meant that one of his fathers was harboring a secret. And, potentially, a grudge. And Virgil had a discomforting inkling who it was.

                Logan had fought Patrice tooth and nail. Everything she did – or didn’t do – infuriated him. Why? Sibling rivalry? Virgil swallowed thickly. Was Logan’s name Logan Patrice before he married Patton? He had mentioned having a brother… but he never spoke of Naroona Patrice as anything more than a coworker. A boss. A villain. Virgil frowned and glanced at the group of gathering Aurors. What were they whispering? Where they going to arrest Logan? Virgil’s stomach hurt at that idea. He didn’t want either of his dads going away… but, if Logan _had_ been the one to do it…

Behind Virgil, Roman was shifting in his cot, thoroughly confused. “Wait… you seriously didn’t know?”

                Virgil frowned and turned around to face Roman, shaking himself out of his dark thoughts. “No.”

                Roman’s brows knit together. “Your… your dads don’t look like the kind of guys to keep secrets.”

                Nodding quietly, Virgil didn’t lift his eyes from the floor. “Yeah.”

                They sat together quietly after that. Both were uncomfortable with this development. Virgil was surprised by Roman’s lack of cutting remarks. Had he turned over a new leaf? Was he not going to make fun of Virgil anymore?

                “I didn’t know you were adopted this summer,” Roman finally muttered after a few minutes. Virgil glanced over at him, and Roman was staring off into the distance. “That’s not that long ago…”

                “Yeah,” Virgil shrugged. “So what? You gonna make fun of the No-Maj kid again?”

                Roman grimaced. “I told you, I was just messing around. My father says: ‘You should get the attention of the kids you like.’ It’s just what you do.”

                Virgil frowned. “Yeah, well… you’re doing it wrong.”

                While Roman sputtered some sort of excuse, the Auror came back with a tight-lipped smile. “Alright… let’s get you boys out of here and with your classmates.”

                While Roman carefully swung his legs over the edge of his bed, Virgil didn’t move. He simply frowned up at that woman. She’d done more damage. Did she know that? Just when Virgil thought he’d be safe – from Patrice, from the mysterious force attacking him – she had gone and destroyed what trust he had with Logan and Patton. He didn’t know _what_ to think anymore.

                “I wanna see my dads,” Virgil finally muttered. He paused after that, blinking a few times. He’d never called Logan or Patton ‘dad’ before. It felt… interesting.

                The Auror’s smile wavered. “We need to get you back to your dorms so we know where all the students are.”

                “I saw a dead body,” Virgil deadpanned. “I’m traumatized. I want my dads.”

                Surprisingly, Roman was quiet. He simply watched the interaction silently. Maybe he’d taken Virgil’s words to heart. The Auror glanced over her shoulder, looking to her comrades helplessly for assistance. The vast majority of them simply shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. None of them really knew what to do.

                So Virgil took matters into his own hands. He stood up, and adjusted his sling to sit on his shoulder comfortably, and headed for the door. The Aurors watched him go. He was painfully aware that the woman was following him, noting every step and gesture. He didn’t care. He stepped around the chalk outline the Auror’s had drawn, stepping out of the infirmary.

                With one last glance backward, Virgil caught Roman’s eye, seeing _something_ glimmer in his light blue eyes. He gave Virgil a subtle nod in place of a goodbye, unable to follow with his bad ankle. Virgil didn’t nod back. He simply turned away, heading down the long, marble hallways of Ilvermorny.

                The Auror followed him all the way to the teacher’s dormitory, even holding open the door for him when they reached their destination. She gave her fellow Aurors a respectful nod and greeting as they passed. It seemed they were still confining the teachers to the dorms. The woman smiled down at Virgil as they approached Logan and Patton’s room.

                “I want to make sure you get to your parents safely,” she insisted. Virgil knew better. She was a detective. She wanted to snoop.

                Virgil knocked on the door, hearing a soft shuffling before Logan opened the door. His eyes went wide, and before Virgil could brace himself, Logan was crushing him in a tight hug. It pulled at his aching shoulder and made his injured muscles burn. But he didn’t mind it.

                The night caught up with him. Everything he’d seen… everything he’d heard… it all came crashing into him as Logan held him close. Virgil’s breath hitched and he started to cry. Logan provided so much comfort, it _hurt_. Virgil clung to him, blubbering what he’d seen. The lifeless glint of her eyes, the threats she’d issued… Logan listened to it all, his hand carding through Virgil’s hair.

                “You’re safe now, Virgil,” Logan said softly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with us.”

                The Auror stood by quietly as Virgil caught his breath, watching with passive eyes. She was looking past Logan and into the bedroom. “If I may, Mr. Sanders… I’d like to have a word with your husband about the… incident.”

                “The murder, you mean,” Logan said bluntly. Virgil flinched, holding himself to Logan’s side as the older man looked at the Auror sharply.

                The Auror didn’t mind the tone. She simply nodded. “Yes.”

                Logan’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t honestly think Patton would kill is own sister.”

                Virgil’s eyes went wide. What was _happening_? The world was being flipped upside down. Logan wasn’t related to Patrice… Patton _was_? Virgil couldn’t imagine Patton being raised alongside her. She was cruel and cutting… Patton was the softest, kindest man he’d ever met.

                How could they be siblings?

                The Auror hesitated. “I wasn’t trying to imply –”

                “Patton is indisposed at the moment,” Logan cut her off with his sharp tongue. “He’s unwell and mourning the loss of his sister.”

                The Auror raised her eyebrows. “Yes… though I think it’s worth noting that this is not the first sibling Mr. Sanders has lost.”

                Logan’s hand gripped Virgil’s shoulder tightly. Uncomfortably so. He wriggled until Logan released him, pushing him into the bedroom with a subtle shove. Once inside, Virgil saw Patton laying on the bed, stiff as a board. His glasses were on the bedside table. An arm was thrown over his eyes, blocking out the light. Virgil remembered seeing him like this once before… Patton had a migraine.

                He edged around the room carefully, sitting in Logan’s armchair as he watched Patton’s expression for any more discomfort. Was it the Aurors? There were a lot of them… and all of them were searching for clues. They were hunting down a murderer. It wasn’t any doubt that they would all be thinking _a lot_ … and loudly, no doubt. Patton was probably exhausted.

                Without any warning, Patton sat up straight, his eyes glossed over with distorted pain as he numbly announced, “Virgil is here!”

                In the doorway, Logan turned to give Patton a tired look over his shoulder. “Yes, dearest, I know.”

                Patton closed his eyes tight, massaging his temples as he whispered, “It’s so _loud_ … I can barely hear you, kiddo…”

                Virgil slipped out of his seat and crawled onto the bed next to Patton. “I’m right here.”

                Patton huffed a laugh. “You sure are. C’mere, champ… I’ve been worried sick about you.” Patton put an arm around Virgil’s shoulder, pulling him into a sideways hug. Virgil quietly hugged him back. He didn’t know what to think. He had so many questions. Patton sighed into his hair. “I know, kiddo… I know you’ve got questions. I just… I don’t think I can… answer them right now…”

                “Can I ask just a few?” Virgil said softly. Patton hummed agreeably, his eyes shut and muscles tense. Virgil hugged him a little tighter. “Was your last name ‘Patrice’ before you got married?”

                “No. My last name is Sanders. So was Naroona’s. As soon as she was old enough…” he paused, his face scrunching up uncomfortably before he continued. “She changed her name. She didn’t want to be a Sanders.”

                Virgil glanced at the door, seeing Logan still adamantly protecting Patton from the Auror’s questions. He frowned. “Why didn’t she want to be a Sanders?”

                Patton sighed and gave Virgil’s shoulder a pat. “She didn’t like me.”

                Virgil was quiet after that, watching the way Logan crossed his arms over his chest and spoke to the Auror with short, clipped words. He spoke in hushed tones, clearly trying to be respectful of Patton’s migraine. But still… people’s thoughts were going to bleed through the walls. Patton wasn’t safe in the middle of this chaos. No one was. Virgil’s chest ached at that… Patrice was dead. However… she was, as she had put it, a very capable witch. And if _she_ couldn’t defend herself from the attacker, what chance did he stand?

                Patton’s hand gripped his shoulder, and Virgil glanced up, seeing his hazel were open just a bit, watching the doorway blurrily. “Earlier I said we should take a break from Ilvermorny.” He blinked tiredly, his bloodshot eyes watching Logan’s back carefully. “It’s not a suggestion anymore. I think… we would all be safest if… if we took a little break.”

                Virgil’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t fight. He simply leaned his head against Patton’s shoulder and whispered, “For how long?”

                “As long as it takes,” Patton murmured, “For this mess to be taken care of.”

+++++

                Autumn swept out of Ilvermorny quickly. It brought the hearty chill of winter in its wake, threatening to tear Virgil asunder with the winds that rolled down the mountainside in through his dorm window. For nearly a week and a half, Patton had been pushing Logan to take administrative leave from Ilvermorny. He didn’t feel safe anymore. Virgil didn’t blame him.

The Aurors had suspects – including Patton himself – but hadn’t come up with solid evidence to support their hunches. For all intents and purposes, Naroona’s death was nothing more than a freak accident by an unknown hand. Virgil knew all about ‘freak accidents.’ The past three months had been valuable learning experiences on that front.

And though Logan had been stone-faced through so many of the other incidents, his composure was starting to crack. When Virgil was alone with Logan and Patton, Logan always got a sad, tired look on his face. He was giving in. It was only a matter of time until they packed their bags.

                So, Virgil met every day with a hint of suspicion. He greeted every sleepless sunrise with the thought that – maybe, possibly – it was going to be his last day in the haunted school. He treated every class like a deathtrap; who knew what possible attacks where hidden around every corner. He never let himself be caught alone, even if it meant lingering awkwardly on the sidelines of Roman Prince’s circle of friendship. They didn’t mind him. In fact, they pretended they couldn’t see him. All of them ignored him… except for Roman Prince.

                Roman had been privy to the same information and horror that Virgil had. He now understood the danger. At least, better than their classmates. So, he quietly watched Virgil from the corner of his eye. He sought him out in a crowded room, just to make sure _someone_ was watching for the attacks. They never spoke. They never agreed to the impromptu arrangement… it simply stuck.

                And Virgil continued to mark the days… he kept ticking off the hours as he fought to get some sleep. When was Logan going to cave in and take them home? Was tomorrow his last day at Ilvermorny? Would they leave on Thursday? Friday?

                October bled into November… the investigation went on. No true leads were developed. At least, none that the MACUSA would release to the public. Virgil descended the stairs of the Pukwudgie tower every day. He had a dull routine. Classes, eat lunch at a table on his own, more classes… meet with Logan and Patton after dinner. Go to sleep. Repeat.

                Each day was on edge. Teetering on the precipice of freedom and being trapped in the school forever. Virgil found his anxiety heightening with each passing day. The longer _nothing_ happened, the more afraid he became. What was going to happen next? Was another person going to be killed? The questions churned around in his brain and made his stomach hurt with each uneventful hour, regardless of Roman Prince keeping an eye out for danger. He couldn’t do anything even if he saw danger coming. If Patrice couldn’t stop it… how could he?

                With his books held securely against his chest, Virgil walked down the halls of Ilvermorny with a chip on his shoulder and a stutter in his steps. A solid week and a half had passed since Naroona’s death. The days bled together, and yet… it felt like an eternity passed. Long, long, minutes and slow hours. A terrible, sour contradiction.

Glancing up tiredly, Virgil watched the corners of the hall suspiciously. Charms class was next. Patton would be there. Safe and reliable Patton… regardless of that, Virgil was still anxious. He wanted to go back to their little farmhouse. He wanted to throw the covers over his head and hide until the sun went away. However, until Logan agreed to go with them, Virgil and Patton were stuck.

                Turning away from the edges of the halls, Virgil saw Logan and Patton. They were standing in the hallway next to Patton’s classroom door, fervently speaking to each other in low, serious tones. He already knew what they were talking about. These days, it was always like this before Charms class. Patton would try to convince Logan that they needed to leave Ilvermorny before something even worse happened… and Logan would say no.

                Logan’s voice was clearer as Virgil appeared. “… the MACUSA are crawling through the halls. I highly doubt anyone could get past them. The chances that an attacker – if there _is_ one – would get past them are infinitesimal.”

                Patton frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you use big words at me, Logan. You’re trying to intimidate me. It won’t work. I know big words, too.” He turned abruptly, looking to Virgil with a wide smile. “Hey, kiddo! Ready for some charms? I’m sure the Ventus Venteius spell will… _blow you away_!”

Patton immediately began to laugh at his joke while Virgil squinted in confusion. He didn’t remember that spell… maybe they’d spoken about it in the previous week. Virgil blinked tiredly. He couldn’t even remember what Patton had taught him the previous _day_.

                Noticing his confusion, Patton smiled wearily. “It’s a charm for the wind, Virgil. Get it? _Blow_ you away?” Patton nudged Logan, and with a tired roll of his eyes, Logan gave him a low pity-laugh. Patton smiled and nodded happily. “Turn that frown upside down, champ! We’re gonna have fun today.”

                Virgil didn’t bother smiling at that. “You _always_ say were gonna have fun.”

                Patton’s smile wavered. “Don’t… don’t you? Charms is fun…” he looked to Logan for assistance. “Isn’t it?” Floundering, Logan sputtered in confusion. Virgil sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Patton noticed the movement, and reached out to give Virgil’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Still not sleeping too good?”

                Virgil shrugged. “It’s whatever.”

                While Patton opened his mouth to disagree, a bell chimed through the halls. Not bothering to wait for Patton, Virgil twisted on his heel and slipped into the classroom. Across the room, he locked eyes with Roman Prince. No words were spoken. Roman didn’t even acknowledge their eyes had met. He simply smiled at something one of his friends had said. Virgil took a seat at the back of the room.

                He pulled out his notebook, opening it to the most recent addition of his notes. The last line had drifted off on the page… he’d fallen asleep while writing. Virgil frowned. Maybe he could ask Patton for the rest of that lecture later. Pleasantries were exchanged by his classmates as Patton walked into the room and greeted a few students by name.

                Leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, Virgil blinked tiredly as Patton started to write something on the chalkboard. His voice was warm and melting together in a dull, monotone gloss of language. Virgil felt his eyelids droop. Several classmates raised their hands. There was the sound of laughter. Virgil closed his eyes. Patton didn’t mind if he slept in class… he was fine. Patton was watching… so was Roman. He’d just close his eyes for a moment. Just a moment…

                A _snap_ echoed through the room. Virgil’s eyes snapped open.

                “ _Virgil!”_ Patton screeched, desperate and fearful. Virgil recognized the sound.

The scream from his dream. The scream he’d been hearing for months. Was this the moment he’d been dreaming of? Was this a self-fulfilling prophesy?

                Without thinking, Virgil’s fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. His body lurched out of his chair, and he rolled across the floor as the sound of crashing glass and clanging metal rang through the air. Students screamed. Glass skittered across the floor. Virgil felt shards cut through his robes as he tumbled along the marble floor.

                He came to a stop by another desk. He stayed curled up on himself, hoping that whatever had crashed down on him was far, far away… and then he lifted his head. Patton stood in the middle of the room with his wand up and gleaming with magic. A decimated chandelier sat in the place where Virgil’s desk once stood, surrounded by a hazy, blue light.  Each fragment of glass began to glow as Patton gathered it all together in the net of his magic.

                With quiet, gentle _clinks_ of glass, the broken shards of the chandelier gathered together in a pile around the crushed desk. Virgil watched silently, his mouth ajar as his classmates stared with him. They were all equally amazed as the glass safely slid away from the students, sweeping itself into a neat pile.

                For the first time since school had started, Virgil was _glad_ no one had been sitting next to him. Everyone had gone out of their way to avoid him, and in doing so… they’d probably saved their own lives. He sat up shakily, adrenaline and anxiety still coursing through his blood as Patton lowered his wand and took a deep, trembling breath.

                “Is… is everyone okay?” Patton asked, his hands shaking as he glanced around at his students. The other kids were obviously shaken by the turn of events. Virgil didn’t blame them. Sadly, he was quickly becoming numb to these incidents.

                “What happened?” One voice said from the far corner of the room.

                “The chandelier fell,” another answered.

                “I saw the chain snap!” A girl announced brightly. Several students began to murmur at that, many of them casting cautious glances at Virgil as he stayed on the floor. And Patton… poor, tired Patton, let out a long-suffering sigh.

 “I can’t do this,” Patton muttered to himself.

Virgil’s eyes snapped to him. What did that mean? Was he tired of having such a troublesome son? That wouldn’t be surprising… because of the attacks centered around Virgil, Patrice had been killed. Patton lost a sibling. It was only natural that he’d want to get rid of the problem child.

                Patton obviously heard these thoughts, and he turned to Virgil with tearful eyes. “This is _insane_ ,” he breathed, almost in disbelief as he stumbled over to Virgil and pulled him onto his feet. Virgil was immediately gathered up into a hug. “I don’t know why these attacks are concentrated on you, but… I can’t do this. _We_ can’t do this. It’s too dangerous. I’ve already lost two siblings to magical mishaps… I’m not going to lose my son.”

                Virgil nodded. They’d suffered enough. Drowning, falling, attempted poison and nearly being crushed… there was only so much they could endure. He grasped uselessly at Patton’s cloak, holding himself to Patton’s warm, secure frame.

                “I’m going to put in my request for an extended leave,” Patton whispered softly as he passed his fingers through Virgil’s hair. A weak attempt at comfort. But Virgil appreciated it nonetheless. Patton sighed. “We’re going home… and we’re not coming back until this is settled.”

+++++

                Bags were packed. Paperwork was submitted. People watched as Virgil descended the Pukwudgie tower stairs with his luggage in tow. For the first time since he’d come to Ilvermorny, Virgil was _relieved_. He was happy to be leaving. Free from the madness. Going back home on a quiet, calming note.

                Logan and Patton were waiting for him outside the dorms, both of them looked tired. Beaten. Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to smile as they trekked through the long, gleaming corridors toward the entrance of Ilvermorny. Several Aurors watched their little promenade; they had been posted in Ilvermorny by the MACUSA after Patrice’s death… Virgil had no idea how long they would stay. At this point, he didn’t care anymore.

                They’d made it to the grand gate in front of Ilvermorny when a familiar voice called out to them.

                “Wait! Sanders family!” Virgil blinked as he turned to see Roman dashing down the stone steps that lead to the Great Hall of Ilvermorny. He was heading straight for them with a red envelope in hand, all the while shouting, “ _Halt!_ I have a message of great importance!”

                Virgil gave Roman a confused look. On either side of him, Virgil’s fathers exchanged a look as they set their luggage on the ground and patiently waited. Virgil reluctantly followed suit, setting his dufflebag on the snow-dusted gravel path as Roman came to a stumbling stop in front of them.

                “Roman,” said Patton with a soft smile. “Your father wrote me a letter?”

                Roman lifted his head, looking mildly startled. Virgil glanced at him, too. Patton normally waited for people to tell him things. Was he cutting out the middleman so they could leave faster?

                After a few confused seconds, Roman nodded dumbly and handed Patton the envelope. “Y-yeah. He said to give it to you as soon as I got it.” He looked a little uneasy as Patton gingerly look the red envelope. “I… just got it after lunch. And then I heard you guys were leaving.” He looked to Virgil, eyes softening a bit. “Are you really going?”

                Virgil nodded, feeling something akin to guilt seep into his heart. “Yeah.”

                “For how long?” Roman pressed, his hands fiddling with the cuffs of his robes as he watched Virgil’s expression intently.

                Virgil shrugged, looking away. “I don’t know.”

                On Virgil’s left, Logan put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll come back when the MACUSA notifies us that the case is solved. We’d like to keep Virgil as safe as possible.”

                Roman nodded sadly, but didn’t look pacified. “Oh… okay.” He looked at Patton. “My father wrote that he’d like you to open the letter as soon as you get it.”

                Patton stiffened. Virgil gave him another look. What was wrong with him? Patton frowned and tapped his fingers against the blood-red envelope. “I’d rather not.”

                Roman fidgeted. “He… he said to tell you… to open it so I can tell him what you said when you read it.”

                Pursing his lips, Patton turned the envelope over in his hands. “This… this is a howler, Roman. Considering howlers are normally…” he hesitated, giving Roman a tight-lipped smile, “ _Negative,_ I think I’d like to open it in private.”

                “M-maybe… maybe it’s a good one?” Roman asked, his voice pitched toward hope.

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow at that. Roman really didn’t want to believe his father would send something as harsh as a howler. Interesting… mostly because Virgil had no idea what a howler was. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while Patton assessed the situation, taking his time to decide whether or not he wanted to open the letter.

                On Virgil’s left, Logan sighed heavily. He was obviously done with the interaction. Virgil didn’t blame him. He’d been on edge for the better half of the week, pressing the MACUSA for details where they refused to give him any information about the murder case or the odd attacks on Virgil. While Patton gingerly turned over the envelope once more, Virgil glanced at Logan, seeing the way he watched Patton. He looked… sad. Whatever a howler was, it obviously wasn’t good.

                Letting out a long breath, Patton smile shakily. “I guess we’re far enough from the other students… just a little peak.” He gave Logan a worried look. “Would you –”

                “We’ll wait,” Logan assured him. “I’ve listened to howlers before. I’m sure this one won’t be any worse than the others we’ve received.”

                Worse? What did that mean? Virgil frowned and looked at the red envelope darkly. What was it going to do? Jump up and _bite_ Patton?

                Sliding his thumb under the edge of the wax that sealed the envelope shut, Patton leaned back and away from the howler, squinting a little as he slowly pulled up.

                “ _Patton Sanders, you slimy little **weasel**!”_ Carter Prince’s voice screeched from within the letter. Patton yelped in response, dropping the letter onto the ground as he held a hand to his chest. Virgil caught his breath. What _was_ this? The letter lifted into the air, shaking as Carter’s voice continued to ring through the air. “ _I’m fucking glad Ilvermorny got rid of your stupid ass! First, you send a letter home saying some bullshit about my son being a **bully** , and now he’s involved in some **murder mystery**? You stupid son of a bitch… if I **ever** see your face in Piaza Pass, I’ll punch your lights out you sparkly little fairy! You, **and** your bitch-ass husband!” _There was a moment where the letter paused, presumably so Carter could catch his breath. “ _You better **pray** that Ilvermorny doesn’t hired you back after this all blows over. Now stay the **hell** away from my son.”_

                Before anyone could react, the howler ripped itself apart, scattering on the cold, winter wind and landing on the gravel path in a soft, fluttering pile. Virgil stared with wide eyes. He never knew Patton sent a letter to Roman’s father. When had that happened? He glanced over at Patton, seeing the man’s eyes wide and bottom lip trembling as he fought to hold back tears. Logan went to him immediately, holding Patton’s shoulders and rubbing his arms mechanically in an attempt to soothe him.

                Feeling anger bubble up inside him, Virgil frowned. How _dare_ Roman bring something like that to them? He must’ve known what was inside. Did his father specifically tell Roman to embarrass and insult Patton before they left? He turned to Roman, air already in his lungs and tongue ready to spit fire… only to see Roman’s wide, watery eyes. He looked pale. And scared.

                The fire on Virgil’s tongue immediately died, and he was left feeling almost like an empty shell. Roman hadn’t known what was hidden in the howler. He couldn’t have. He was just as baffled. Just as horrified. His hands gripped his winter cloak, fitfully pulling at the fabric as he looked up at Patton and Logan with tear-streaked cheeks.

                “I’m… I’m sorry,” he managed to breath, his breath coming out in hot, white clouds in the winter air. “I didn’t… I didn’t know that… I didn’t know he’d…!”

                Logan didn’t wait for any more of an explanation. He picked up his luggage and Virgil followed suit, grabbing Patton’s as well. Patton was tucked under the warm, sheltering fabric of Logan’s cloak, and he turned his back on Roman Prince.

                Logan spoke stiffly when he said, “Goodbye, Mr. Prince. I wish you the best in your school career.” And then he pulled Patton down the path, heading for the carriage that waited to take them to the edge of the school grounds.

                Virgil couldn’t help it. He followed, casting a few, cautious glances over his shoulder as Roman remained in the shadow of the school gates.

                “I didn’t know!” Roman shouted again while Logan loaded the luggage into the carriage.

                Virgil was lifted up and over the edge, and he twisted in his seat, staring back at the student that had been watching over him for the past week. Patton climbed into the carriage, his face downturned and defeated as he sat back. Logan sat next to him, flicking his wand toward the winged creatures that pulled the carriage.

                Despite the bumps in the path, Virgil leaned against the back of the carriage, his traveling robes pulling at his shoulders as he stared up at Ilvermorny. His home for the past three months… and the cage that kept him trapped for just as long. Would he ever see it again? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He found his eyes trained on the gates, watching as Roman Prince got smaller and smaller in the distance. His mind was holding onto the image of Roman’s tearful expression. With a soft, shimmering feeling, the carriage passed through the barrier. Virgil blinked as they reached the other side. He couldn’t see the school anymore… but that was the last thing on his mind.

                He couldn’t see Roman anymore.

+++++

                “Ah! Home again, home again!” Patton announced loudly as they stepped over the threshold of their little farmhouse. Flicking on the hallway lights, Logan set down his back and sighed.

                “A redundant statement, but truthful nonetheless,” he took a long look at the moving pictures that lined the hall, smiling a bit at the sight of his and Patton’s wedding photo. “It’s good to be back. Rather relaxing.”

                Virgil didn’t say anything. He placed his bag on the floor, looking around at the familiar beige walls and close quarters. It felt almost foreign after three months in a castle… like a tiny box that was too small for him to feel free. He watched Logan go around the house, turning on lights and canceling the charms that would water the plants while they were away. Patton took his and Logan’s luggage up to his room, smiling and humming all the way. Virgil huffed.

                Patton and Logan felt better. They felt _safe_. So… why was Virgil feeling so dissatisfied? There were missing puzzle pieces. Bits of the story didn’t line up. He had questions… but little means to answer them. He shuffled up the stairs, throwing his bag into his room without care.

                Leaning against the doorframe of Patton and Logan’s room, Virgil lingered in the doorway, fiddling with the clasp on his traveling cloak. “Hey, um…”

                Patton turned to smile at him, kicking the suitcases under the bed. “What’s up, big guy?”

                Virgil squirmed. Unrest lingered in the air. He wanted to know something… he just wasn’t sure what it was. He wanted to know when they’d go back to Ilvermorny. He wanted to know about Patrice. He wanted to know why the attacks focused on _him_. Virgil frowned and glared at the carpet floor. He wanted to feel safe, like Patton and Logan… but he couldn’t do that until he knew all of the missing details.

                Across the room, Patton fluttered his hands together anxiously. “Are… are you tired? Wanna take a nap, kiddo?” Virgil lifted his head, giving Patton a weary look. Patton knew what he was thinking, but even so, he was changing the subject. Did he not want to talk about it? Did he know more than he let on? Patton sighed and shook his head. “No, I don’t know any more than you do, kiddo. It’s just… coming back has been exhausting. We had that little thing with Roman this afternoon, and… I think we’re all a little drained.”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “Do _you_ want to take a nap?”

                “A little bit!” Patton laughed, but the sound didn’t seem as joyful as it normally did. His coice was strained. His smile was tense. Virgil shuffled his foot.

                “Me, too,” he lied. “I’m tired.”

                Tilting his head to the side, Patton smiled at Virgil with heavy-lidded eyes. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for dinner.”

                “’Kay,” Virgil turned on his heel, and heading towards his room. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, scratching at the lining as he tried to push his worrying thoughts away.

                Logan’s voice called up the stairs, halting Virgil mid-step. “I know it’s frustrating to be taken out of school,” he said lowly, watching Virgil from the foot of the stairs. Virgil stared down at him, seeing something flash through those dark, blue eyes. Logan went on, “But we want you to be safe… we’re just trying to do what’s best for you and this family.”

                Virgil forced a smile onto his face, and he nodded. “I know.”

                Logan gave him a knowing look over the frame of his glasses. “We love you, Virgil. We love you very much.”

                The tenseness in Virgil’s smile melted a little, and he nodded again, repeating, “I know,” before he slipped into his room and shut the door.

                He sat on his bed for a long while, looking out at the barren fields beyond the house. The tall grasses had withered and died since they left the farmhouse, and several inches of snow had buried them. He watched snow begin to fall again, and listened to the wind whistling over the hills. He felt tired, but he didn’t sleep. He felt hungry, but he didn’t go downstairs for food.

                He stayed by the window, looking out at the fields. He even tried to turn on his little CD player, but the batteries were still long dead. He clicked the buttons anyway, hearing the _snap, snap, snap_ of the player as he opened and closed it several times. It was an easy fidgeting mechanism.

                It may have been minutes, it may have been hours… either way, there was a knock on his bedroom door, and Patton’s voice called softly from the hallway. “Knock, knock… can I come in?”

                Yes, of course he could come in, Virgil thought pointedly as he clicked the Play button on the CD player. The bedroom door creaked open, and Patton stepped inside. Virgil watched the window. Patton let him. They let silence linger for a while, and Patton eventually meandered over to the bed.

                “Can I sit with you?” Patton asked gently, patting the blankets softly. Virgil shrugged. Patton sat down and put his hands in his lap. “Not feeling chatty, huh?”

                Virgil shrugged again. “I dunno.”

                There was a pause, and Patton’s voice sounded a little strained as he asked, “What can I do, Virgil? How can I make you feel better?”

                Again, Virgil shrugged, but this time it was with more frustration. “I don’t know.”

                For a minute, Patton was quiet. He let Virgil sit and stew by the window, burning with irritation and frustration. He wasn’t mad at Patton. No, he was upset with himself… he wanted to know about Patrice. How would they broach that topic? Patton was worried about him. Patton wanted to _help_ him. How could Virgil ruin that by asking about his deceased sister?

                Patton leaned back until he was lying sideways along the bed. Virgil turned to look at him, seeing the faraway look in his father’s eyes.

                “Did you know that I have six siblings?” Patton said softly. Virgil’s eyes went wide, and Patton nodded with a smile. “Yup! I’m number six of the family. We were a lively bunch.” He folded his hands over his stomach, staring up at Virgil’s gray ceiling with a tired smile. “Naroona… she was Nancy, back then. Before she changed her name and left the family… se was my big sister. I looked up to her so much. We were the odd ones out in the family.” He laughed at that, like it was a fond thought. “We were two magical kids in a No-Maj family.”

                Virgil mulled that thought. He admired her. Wouldn’t that be a good thing? He turned where he sat so he could comfortably look down at Patton’s weary smile. “So… you guys got along?”

                “Oh, yeah,” Patton smiled widely. “When we were little, we got along just fine. She always looked out for me, especially when it came to my legilimency. Our parents thought I might be schizophrenic but Nancy…” Patton sighed happily. “She did her research and told them that… nothing was wrong with me. And I’m grateful that she did.”

                Settling back onto the blankets, Virgil laid next to Patton with their legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He watched Patton’s expression carefully as he muttered, “What happened to make her hate you so much?”

                Patton’s smile drooped a bit, and he hesitated. Virgil bit his lip. This was a sensitive subject. Patton sighed and nodded. “Yeah, but… I might as well tell you.” He twiddled his thumbs as he spoke, more restless than his relaxed expression let on. “I… we… Nancy and I… we had a younger brother. He was the seventh kid in the Sanders family. His name was Jack,” said Patton lowly. Virgil frowned. This story wasn’t going to end well.  Patton continued. “I was so proud to be a big brother, even if there was only a year between us. I loved it. We went everywhere together. And I heard his thoughts constantly. He was always… always so bright. So fun. So bubbly. His thoughts made my chest hurt.”

                Virgil didn’t speak. He knew what was coming. Patton had lost _two_ siblings. Was Jack the first? Probably. But he didn’t dare speak his theory as Patton caught his breath and went on.

                “So I had no way of knowing the sadness he was experiencing,” Patton said lowly. “He knew that I could hear thoughts. He _knew_ … so he hid what he was feeling. He did it for twelve years… lying and hiding how sad he was. If I’d known –” Patton choked on his words, and looked away for a second to collect himself. Virgil reached a hand between them, touching Patton’s arm softly. Patton turned back to him with a watery smile. “But I didn’t know. No one did.”

                Virgil hesitated. “What… what happened to Jack?”

                Patton turned to look at the ceiling again. “We were on a family vacation. I was thirteen, Jack was twelve, and Nancy – no, Narrona – was sixteen. We were on a big bridge… the kind you can walk across.” His eyes glossed over, and his voice was a whisper as he said, “I… I didn’t expect him to climb up on that railing. I was stunned, but… I didn’t think. I pulled out my wand. I wanted to stop him. I wanted to… to _save_ him. I missed,” he chuckled, but there wasn’t any humor in the sound. “I missed by a long shot.”

                Virgil’s eyes were wide as he breathed, “He jumped.”

                Patton nodded, blinking the mist from his eyes as he looked to Virgil. “Nan… Naroona blamed me for it. She thought I knew about his depression. She said that I should have been able to hear his thoughts of suicide. But I didn’t,” Patton frowned. “I didn’t. Jack knew how to hide it from me.”

                There was a lump in Virgil’s throat, and no matter how hard he swallowed, it didn’t go away. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s not fair.”

                Patton shrugged. “When tragedy strikes, people need something or someone to blame,” He was nonchalant, as if gaining the hatred of his sister was a natural thing. “Blaming a person is easier than facing reality.”

                Even so, Virgil frowned. He felt prickly inside, like a sea urchin was rolling around in his lungs. It was a fitful feeling, almost like he wanted to cry but didn’t have the stomach for it.

                “When you first met Patrice, you wondered why I wasn’t a nationally renowned educator, like Logan,” Patton said softly. Virgil nodded, and Patton went on. “It’s because of the spell I cast that day. Because I cast the Arresto spell in front of… _hundreds_ of No-Maj’s, I earned myself a criminal record. An entire highway had to be blocked off in order for the MACUSA to Obliviate them all.”

                Virgil felt his heart seize. “You… you went to jail when you were thirteen?”

                Patton laughed, and this time, it actually sounded real. It lessened the discomfort in the room by a fraction, but even then, the air was thick with unhappiness. “No, I didn’t go to jail. I served community service to work off my gross misdemeanor. I helped the MACUSA with interrogations.” He tapped the side of his head with a grin. “Legilimency helps when you need details on a crime. Even so, I still have a criminal record… people don’t easily trust a legilimens. Or people with records. But! I guess this means I’m so funny it can be considered _illegal!_ ”

                He was trying to make things funny. Trying to gloss over the deaths of two siblings with a silly, lighthearted smile. It wasn’t going to work. Virgil was an expert on lingering on the sad parts of life. He laid next to Patton with a frown, feeling the heat rush to his face as he tried not to cry.

                “You… you tried to _save_ him,” Virgil muttered. Patton’s grin turned to a concerned frown, and Virgil bit his lip. “You were just trying to save him and then… th-then the MACUSA gave you a record. And your sister hated you. And you… you were just…!”

                “Hey, hey, hey…” Patton sat up and gathered Virgil into his lap, holding him tight. “It’s in the past, kiddo. It’s okay. I’ve been dealing with it ever since. It’s okay… shh, it’s okay.”

                Virgil shook his head as he held onto Patton. He pressed his face into Patton’s shoulder coughing out each sob as Patton rubbed is back, rocking them back and forth.

                “It’s n-not fair,” Virgil managed to sputter. “It’s not fair,”

                “You keep saying that,” Patton said softly as he pet Virgil’s hair. “But life seldom is. You can’t make it any better. It’s over. Now you know.” He rocked them to and fro slowly, his warmth soaking through to Virgil’s bones. He whispered over and over, “We’re home, now. We’re okay. We’re home.”

                Virgil grit his teeth and choked back another flood of tears. Patton was the one who should be upset. He should have been grieving. Did he even get to cry when he heard about Naroona’s death? Did he even go to a memorial service? No. He’d stayed with Virgil. Watching him. Guarding him. It wasn’t fair. _Patton_ was the one that should be comforted. _Patton_ was the one that needed to be held.

                And yet, Virgil clung to him.

                “Hey. I’m fine,” Patton said lowly, holding Virgil to him with a soft laugh. “I cried when I heard about it. Logan held me. I’ve grieved… and I’ll still grieve for years. Just like I did with Jack.” He pulled Virgil back and wiped the trails of tears from his eyes with a smile. “But… I want you to promise me something.”

                Virgil sniffed, wiping his face on his sleeves. “O-okay.”

                Patton cupped his cheeks, looking deep into Virgil’s eyes as he said, “If you ever feel sad… if you ever have thoughts of… of hurting yourself… you’ll tell me or Logan, won’t you?” He paused, then added, “Out loud?”

                Virgil didn’t think twice. He nodded. “Yeah, I will.”

                Patton held out his pinky and narrowed his eyes. “Pinky promise?”

                Virgil couldn’t help it. He laughed, feeling a few more tears roll down his cheek as he linked his pinky with Patton’s. “Pinky promise,” he nodded with a shuddering smile.

                Patton smiled, and Virgil swore he could see tears glimmering behind his thick glasses. Patton pulled him into another hug before Virgil could say anything. “We love you, Virgil. Please don’t forget that.”

                Virgil closed his eyes and nodded. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm laughing. Are you laughing? This is fantastic.  
> See you next chapter.


	9. Strife or Comfort

                “Yeah, Mom… I know. Yeah… uh-huh. We’ll be there,” Patton said softly, his voice echoing through the kitchen as he paced the hardwood floors. Virgil was in the living room on the sofa next to Logan, listening intently to Patton’s phone conversation as Logan graded his History of Magics test.

                Logan and Patton had been homeschooling him for almost a month, now. They burned through the chilly December days with lessons and lectures. Joking with Patton wasn’t as fun as it used to be. Experimenting with Logan was tense and unsure. They didn’t speak about Ilvermorny… or Patrice. It was an uncomfortable balance between domesticity and education.

                Patton had been talking about his family more often, though. He’d made a plan for the three of them to visit the Sanders household on Christmas eve to celebrate with them. He spoke about his parents and their No-Maj lives. He talked about his seven siblings and the chaos that seemed to follow them wherever they went. He didn’t specifically mention Patrice… but Virgil knew there was darkness hidden in the folds of the memories.

                Logan, however, had been as quiet as ever. He didn’t speak about his family as much as he noted that they would visit them on Christmas day. Virgil knew that Logan had a brother and that he was a psychiatrist… but that was it. Logan didn’t seem to like talking about his family. It was yet another uncomfortable layer of information that no one wanted to unbury.

                Patton wandered out of the kitchen with the phone still held to his ear. His appearance shook Virgil out of his thoughts, and he watched as Patton paced the dining room with a small, tired smile. “Of course! I know… Virgil is excited to meet you, too.”

                No, no… Virgil was _terrified_. What if Patton’s parents didn’t like him? What if they asked questions about Ilvermorny? What if they asked him about Patrice? What would he _say_?

                Patton didn’t soothe Virgil’s fears as he turned on his heel and paced along the wall. “Sure… yeah, we’re seeing Logan’s parents on Christmas day. Yeah. No, I think Logan wants to Apparate. Sure. I’ll text you when we get there… okay… I’ll let you go, Mom. Okay… I love you, too. See you soon.” He hung up the phone and sighed. Virgil quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the armrest of the sofa as Patton put the phone back on the charging cradle. He gave Virgil a tired smile. “Excited for Christmas, kiddo?”

                Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know… I’ve never really spent Christmas with a family.”

                “With all that’s happened this year, we should be grateful that we’re _alive_ and _able_ to celebrate,” Logan deadpanned as he circled one of Virgil’s answers in red pen.

                “Aw, don’t be a Downtrodden Debby,” Patton chided lightly as he plopped himself on the sofa between Logan and Virgil. “Everything that happened in Ilvermorny is behind us. The MACUSA are investigating and we’re safe and sound at home.”

                Virgil frowned. That was _very_ conditional. “What about the other students? Are they in danger?”

                “Considering all of the attacks seemed to center around _you_ ,” Logan said lowly as he set Virgil’s test aside. “I think the others should be safe. The MACUSA will be able to continue their investigation without hindrance now that we’re here.”

                Patton shifted uncomfortably. “Enough shop talk, boys… is everyone set to go? I told Mom we’d be there before three…” he gave Logan a pointed look. “You need a coat, honey.”

                Logan heaved a groan. “Why can’t I wear my cloak? It’s thicker and heavier. Logically, it’s the warmer option. The No-Maj coats manufactured these days are too thin and are counterproductive in the winter weather.”

                “Because No-Maj’s get confused when you wear your cloak in public, sweetheart.” He waved Logan off toward their bedroom with a flick of his wrist as he pulled his own coat from the coat rack in the doorway. “Go on. Go get it.”

                Virgil stood next to Patton, obediently pulling his own black, wool coat over his shoulders. He had stuffed his backpack with more wizardly clothing for when they saw Logan’s parents. Apparently, their outfits would be based on the people they were visiting. In the bag, he’d also stowed his CD player… if things got too overwhelming, maybe Patton or Logan could charm his CD player to work without batteries. It would be nice to have music again. But that thought was best saved for a later time.

                Watching Patton carefully, Virgil eyed his calm smile and easygoing demeanor. There was something… _something_ still off in his behavior. But Virgil just wasn’t sure what it was. So he stayed quiet, twisting is Pukwudgie scarf around his neck as Logan descended the stairs, grumbling about the inefficiency of No-Maj inventions. Patton delicately ignored him, buttoning his own coat quietly.

                “Now… this is a No-Maj household,” Patton reminded them with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “No spells. No charms. And _no_ calling people No-Maj’s.” He gave Logan a pointed look at that one, and Logan rolled his eyes. He smiled down at Virgil as he softly said, “I haven’t told my parents about the accidents at Ilvermorny. All they know is that Nancy... Naroona was in an accident. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

                Virgil nodded and threw his backpack onto his shoulder. “Okay.”

                Letting out a soft sigh, Patton smiled and nodded. “Great. Get in here, kiddo!” He spread his arms wide, wiggling his fingers expectantly as he Virgil shook his head with a smile. He stepped forward into Patton’s arms, pressing close as Patton giggled and said, “Hang on tight.”

                Remembering the vertigo that rushed over him the first time he Apparated with Patton, Virgil closed his eyes and pressed his face to Patton’s chest. He felt the rush of wind, so much colder than the first time he Apparated. It felt like ice cutting through his skin, real and burning as they warped reality and twisted through space. All too soon, it was over. Virgil’s feet touched the ground, and he leaned against Patton as he caught his balance.

                This time, Patton didn’t laugh. He simply pat Virgil’s shoulder gently. “Good job, Virgil,” he muttered, almost as an afterthought.

                Virgil leaned back, giving Patton a curious look. His gaze was far away, focused on the house that they were standing before. Virgil gave the house an interested onceover. They were somewhere in the suburbs, standing on the curb outside of a large, two-story home. Cars filled the driveway, and from the shadows that traveled through the windows, Virgil could guess that there were _plenty_ of people inside. There were a few inches of snow on the ground, and ice glistened on the windowpanes. It was the true vision of a Christmas party house.

                Behind them, Logan let out a long, cloudy breath. “Your Uncle Joseph is here,” he said with a hint of distain as he looked at a beat-up and rusting car at the edge of the street.

                Patton hummed thoughtfully. “I know. I can hear him already.” He pat Virgil’s shoulder comfortingly, and bent down to whisper, “Don’t take anything Uncle Joe says seriously. Okay?”

                Uncle Joe? They obviously didn’t like him. But why hadn’t they have spoken about this relative before? Virgil frowned; they never mentioned Naroona’s relation to Patton, so… Virgil pursed his lips, hesitant and confused, but he nodded anyway. Patton and Logan knew best. Especially when it came to their families. So, reluctant and slightly uneasy, Virgil allowed himself to be toted up the driveway and to the front door. Patton rang the doorbell.

                There was the sound of shuffling, a few raucous laughs, and Virgil felt the tenseness in Patton’s frame relax. He looked up, and Patton was smiling. Really, genuinely smiling. Virgil couldn’t help it… he smiled, too.

                The door swung open to reveal a short, round woman with graying hair and thin, wire-framed glasses. As soon as her eyes landed on Patton, she was grinning from ear to ear. “Patton! Oh, sweetie, welcome home!”

                “Hi, Mom,” Patton smiled as he bent down to give her a warm hug. They rocked back and forth for a moment, simply reveling in their closeness. They were quiet for a moment, until Patton whispered, “I missed you, too.”

                Patton’s mother released him, getting a look at Logan and Virgil. She smiled at Logan’s button-up shirt and slacks. “Oh, Logan, look at you! You always get so dressed up for our little gettogethers… but you know we’re all family here.” Logan sputtered something as his cheeks flushed, but Patton’s mother didn’t pay attention to it. She simply smiled at Virgil. “Oh, look at you…”

                Her eyes glimmered with something. Pride? Excitement? Virgil couldn’t tell. He simply leaned into Patton’s arm, looking up at her cautiously. When she reached out, Virgil didn’t shy away. He held still, holding her gaze as she brushed a thumb over his cheek. It was a familiar gesture. Like she’d known him for years and only _just_ had the chance to see him after being separated for far too long. She let out a soft breath with a smile, tilting her head to the side as she pat Virgil’s cheek and murmured, “He’s just _precious_.”

                “Isn’t he?” Patton smiled in response. He was beaming with pride, and Virgil felt his chest warm at the praise. Patton quickly gestured to his mother. “Virgil, this is my mom, Maria Sanders.”

                Maria nodded softly, taking her hand from his cheek and giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “Welcome to the family, Virgil. Patton’s been telling us all about you for so long… I was wondering when I’d get to meet you.” Before Virgil could say anything, she stepped back and waved them inside. “Now you boys get in here! It’s freezing out there!”

                Patton took their coats, hanging them in a hall closet that was already filled to burst. Virgil listened to the activity that echoed through the house. There was the sound of silverware on plates… laughter, and conversation. The sound of a television blared in another room. Maybe that was to keep the younger children busy. Virgil frowned. He didn’t want to go sit with strange kids.

                Patton heard that, and gave Virgil’s hair a little ruffle. “No worries, champ. You can stick with Logan and me.”

                “It’s Logan and _I,”_ Logan corrected as he took Virgil’s backpack and set it next to the stairs.

                Patton waved that away as Maria called down the hall, “Patton’s home!”

                That call was answered with a loud, excited cheer down the hall. Virgil jumped. It sounded as if ten people had shouted in response. Was it going to be that loud all night? He leaned back against Logan’s stiff, awkward frame while Maria reached up to run her fingers through Patton’s hair.

                “You look tired… been getting enough sleep?” She asked, her voice pitched more towards sadness than worry. Patton nodded, and Virgil couldn’t help but think it was a lie. Maria knew it, too. She sighed and shook her head. “It’s… it’s going to be a little lonelier around her without Nancy.”

                Virgil’s brow furrowed as Maria led them down the hallway toward the Christmas party. Tugging on Logan’s sleeve, Virgil whispered, “I thought Naroona left the family?”

                “She did,” Logan said lowly as they continued toward the living room. “But Mrs. Sanders loves all of her children, regardless of what happened in the past.”

                Virgil didn’t get the chance to ask any other questions as several strange adults began to crowd Patton. They exchanged hugs and laughs, and a few of the men ruffled his hair and knocked his glasses askew. Patton only laughed harder when his glasses clattered to the floor. Virgil felt anxiety well in his chest, but he wasn’t scared. He was glad that Patton was really smiling again. He’d been… _off_ for several weeks since Naroona’s – or was it Nancy’s? – death. It was nice to see him laugh.

                The only problem with this is that it left Logan and Virgil to stand awkwardly in the corner with nothing to do. At least they could be awkward together. Whenever someone new would come along to slap Patton’s shoulder or greet him with a grasping hug, Logan would lean down and say, “That’s Patton’s older sister, Abigail,” or, “That’s Patton’s older brother, Paul.”

                It was nice getting introductions at a distance. That way, Virgil didn’t have to struggle through the social protocol of uncomfortable introductions. At least, it was nice for a short time. Maria tugged a man away from the stove where he’d been happily stirring some sort of chili, and dragged him toward Logan and Virgil. As soon as he turned his face toward them, it was obvious who he was.

                He had Patton’s big, hazel eyes and the same mussed, curly gray hair. He had the same laugh-lines around his face and his eyes had wrinkles around the edges from smiling so much over the years. Virgil smiled shyly. This was Patton’s father.

                “Dan…” Maria started slowly as she indicated to Virgil with a flourish. “This is _Virgil_.”

                Dan smiled and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Virgil! Patton’s told us so much about you.” He gave Logan a wink. “I sure hope these bookworms haven’t been working you to the bone with your wizard schoolin’.”

                Virgil blinked and shook Dan’s hand robotically. “No, sir.”

                Dan quirked an eyebrow. “Sir? Nah, nah, kid…” he wagged his finger to and fro in front of Virgil’s face. “It’s either ‘Grandpa’ or ‘Dan.’ None of that ‘sir’ business.” He ran a hand through his thick hair with a smile. “I look old enough as it is, don’t ya think?”

                Virgil pursed his lips and shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”

                Dan grinned and open his mouth to say more, only to get cutoff by another voice from the living room. “Oh isn’t this _nice_?” The voice was gruff and complaining, like the person who owned it had smoked too much and shouted too long for years on end. “Patty can’t show up for Nancy’s Memorial, but he can show up for Christmas?” Virgil leaned back into Logan’s waiting arms, trying to catch a glimpse of the speak to no avail. “And they brought their ‘kid.’ That’s pretty damn convenient.”

                The group of Patton’s siblings stopped jostling, choosing instead to hold Patton safely in their group as they collectively glared at the sofa. Virgil followed their stare, catching half a glimpse of a large, unshaven man on the sofa holding a beer can in one hand and the television remote in the other. Nicely put, he looked like a homeless man that stumbled into the house and asked for a beer.

                Dan stood up and grand toward the sofa. “Joe, knock it off.”

                Joe snorted. “What? We’re all thinkin’ it! He went to Jack’s funeral but not Nancy’s?”

                Patton shifted between his siblings, looking back toward Virgil anxiously. Was he scared that Virgil would think less of him? Because he didn’t. Patrice had been _horrible_ to Patton. She’d berated him. Belittled him. Openly declared that she wished pain upon him. Virgil didn’t blame him for not wanting to go to her memorial. As for Jack… Virgil didn’t want to linger on that thought. It had been painful enough to hear the story from Patton.

                One of Patton’s sisters, Abigail, huffed, “Can’t we just have a nice Christmas for once?”

                Paul nodded and glanced over at Virgil. “Yeah. I haven’t even gotten to meet the kid, yet. Can we leave the family drama at the door?”

                Joe took a drink of his beer and grumbled, “If we wanted to leave the drama at the door, Patton shouldn’t have come with his gay shit and his stupid kid…”

                Virgil’s eyes went wide. Was this a Christmas party or an ‘Attack Patton’ party? Virgil glanced at Logan, hoping to get some sort of sign for how he should respond to Joe’s words. He only saw fire in those dark, blue eyes. And when Logan spoke, it was hardly a whisper.

                “ _Cofundus_ ,” Logan breathed.

                Immediately, Joe tumbled off of the sofa and onto the floor, spilling his beer all over himself. There was a beat of silence, and then the household began to laugh. All except Patton, who looked back at Logan, horrified.

                While Patton’s siblings all moved to comfort him with a change in subject, Dan Sanders gave Logan a sparing glance. Virgil bit the inside of his cheek anxiously. Did he know that Logan had cause Joe’s fall? Probably. But it didn’t look like he was planning on doing anything in response. In fact, Dan looked satisfied sharing a long, knowing look with Logan before giving his shoulder a fond pat.

                “Say, Virgil,” Dan said suddenly, regaining Virgil’s attention. He gestured back to the stove with a smile when Virgil raised his eyebrows. “You like baking?”

                Virgil hesitated, looking back at Logan for assistance. Logan offered a little comfort when he smiled, and Virgil glanced back at Dan. “Sure, I guess… I did some baking with Patton.”

                “Great,” While Dan rolled up his sleeves, he waved Virgil forward. “You can help me with desert.”

                Virgil obediently followed, glancing at the different dishes that filled the countertop. There were already a few pies, decorated Christmas cookies, and some sort of fruit salad. Virgil quirked an eyebrow what else did they need? Though, looking at the large amount of people in the house, maybe they _did_ need that many dishes. There were a lot of mouths to feed.

                While Virgil washed off the strawberries in the sink, Dan as mixing some sort of batter together. Maria worked around them, taking up different dishes and bringing them to the table as Patton and his siblings talked.

                “So, Virgil,” Dan started gently, keeping a friendly smile on his face as Virgil glanced up at him. “I’m guessing you’re a wizard like my boy, Patton.”

                Virgil froze; was he supposed to agree? How much did Patton’s parents know about the wizarding world? Had Patton told his parents anything about Virgil being a wizard? Feeling anxiety swell in his throat, Virgil ended up looking back at Logan for assistance. Unfortunately, Logan was heatedly discussing the ramifications of using Smart Phones with Abigail.

                Feeling butterflies flutter their wings in his stomach, Virgil fumbled for words for a moment. Should he deny it? Patton had told him not to talk about wizardry… did this count? Patton’s parents _had_ to know he was a wizard. But… where was the line? How much could they openly discuss?

                Letting out a low chuckle, Dan gave Virgil a soft smile. “Easy, sport! I’m not gonna announce that you’re magic in front of the whole family.”

                Virgil looked up at his Dan. There was still a warm, familiar smile on his face. It was different from Patton’s smile, but calming all the same. Virgil smiled at his… grandfather. Grandfather? He’d never had one of those before. Virgil felt his chest swell. He’d never had an extended family before, either. This was new territory. It was a little scary… and a little _exciting_. He wasn’t sure if he liked this feeling yet, but it was nice, all the same.

                As he continued to wash off the fruit, Virgil mumbled, “Did Patton tell you?”

                “Hmm? Oh, no, no, no…” Dan shook his head with a laugh. “He didn’t. But he’d call us every other week telling us how smart you were. How fast you were learning. How much he loved you… things like that. I just kind of… _guessed_ that you were magic.”

                Virgil blinked and gave Dan a skeptical look. “You… guessed?”

                “Well, think about it… you live with my son, who is a _very_ good wizard, and his husband who is _also_ a very good wizard. They’ve always got something magical going on in that little house of theirs.” Dan winked at him. “Can you blame me for assuming?”

                After a second of thought, Virgil smiled and shrugged. Dan laughed at that and took the dough he had mixed and placed it on the flour-dusted countertop. There, he started to knead the dough, instructing Virgil to cut up the strawberries. They did this in relative silence for a while, allowing Virgil to eavesdrop on the conversations in the living room.

                Patton never spoke in detail about his work, but happily spoke about how quickly Virgil was learning in his non-specific courses. He spoke about his students – rather than the subject-matter – and distracted everyone with silly and fun anecdotes. Virgil smiled at that. Patton had _years_ of experience keeping his magic a secret from his other siblings. Logan, however, did not.

                He visibly floundered in conversations, and more than once, Patton had to come to his rescue. Logan would very nearly out himself as a wizard before Patton would swoop in and launch into a story about their colleagues and grading papers. More often than not, Patton would simply ask about his nieces and nephews. His siblings were always happy to boast and brag, and Logan would sigh with relief. The less talking he had to do, the better.

                After nearly ten minutes, Dan began to roll the dough flat as he struck up a conversation. “So, how you liking school, Virgil? Having fun so far?”

                Virgil blinked. School… fun? That was an odd thought. They were two words that didn’t go together. Like… bathtub and toaster. It was simply a ridiculous mix. Ilvermorny had been a glorified deathtrap for nearly four months. He was lucky to get out of the castle _alive_. Virgil cut the top off of a strawberry and then cut it in half. “Uh… not really.”

                “Not a big fan?” Dan asked brightly. Virgil shrugged, and Dan laughed heartily. “Nothin’ wrong with that! I never graduated high school myself. Everyone has their own way.”

                From the living room, Maria shouted, “Daniel Thomas Sanders, don’t you _dare_ tell that beautiful little boy to drop out of school!”

                Dan leaned back to give his wife a mortified look. “I wasn’t! We were just talking!”

                Maria narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “It’s harder for kids these days. You were able to strike out of school and start your bakery, but these days, kids _need_ their high school diploma.” She bounced a baby on her knee, happily leaning forward to rub her nose against theirs. She cooed to the baby, “Get your diploma, Louise! Get your diploma!”

                Smirking at Dan’s grumpy – and slightly embarrassed – expression, Virgil pushed the chopped fruit across the cutting board toward him. He glanced back toward Logan, seeing his father still deep in discussion with Abigail. In the living room, Patton was cradling a baby in his arms, cooing about their bright, green eyes with a happy glimmer in his eyes.

                It was a very warm, happy atmosphere. The people in the household seldom went over to speak to Joe. It seemed that everyone adored Logan and Patton… and by extension, they enjoyed having Virgil amongst them.

                After being ushered out of the kitchen by Dan, Virgil was thrust into the throng of Sanders family members, hearing introductions and family ties throughout conversations. Virgil couldn’t keep track of names… a brother here, an aunt there, it all seemed to blur together as Virgil tucked himself under Patton’s warm arm.

                He listened to stories about Nancy Sanders. He heard long-winded tales about how warm and considerate she used to be. How much everyone was going to miss her smile. Her laugh. Her hugs. But they hadn’t seen or heard from her in years. She’d left… and it made an impact on everyone there.

                “It’s a real shame,” Paul said lowly as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder and held her a little closer. The room seemed to go a little quieter when he said, “She just wasn’t the same after Jack. I wish we could’ve… I don’t know, said something to her? Before that accident at school?” He glanced up a Patton and gave him an odd look. “What even happened anyway?”

                Patton stiffened – Virgil could feel it in his frame – and looked down at the floor guiltily. “The… the examiner said it was some sort of extreme exhaustion.” He shrugged and took a drink of the eggnog in his cup before muttering, “I wasn’t given all of the details.”

                After that, things began to grow uncomfortably tense in the room. Patton started to excuse himself from conversations more and more often, fleeing to the sheltering presence of Logan’s thoughts. And Virgil… he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do in his absence. Her had no good stories to share of Nancy – or Naroona – that could lift spirits. He’d only known her for a short time. And what he knew were the highlights of her grim and dark last days.

                In the end, he fled the living room. In fact, he fled the house altogether, opting to sit out on the wooden porch swing that sat under an awning outside the front door. It was safe there. Cold, but safe from the pitying glances and heavy conversations. He sheltered himself in his coat, stolen from the hall closet, and he hid in the folds of the fabric as snow fell in a hushed, muted whisper of sound.

                He sat there for… he didn’t know how long. A few minutes? An hour? He simply watched the snow pile up. Lights glittered in the windows of houses along the streets, giving the suburban landscape a soft, subtle glow. It reminded Virgil of the firelight in Ilvermorny… but this was warmer. Kinder. In the farmhouse, there weren’t other houses around them… there was just inky black fields surrounding them. This was a nice change of pace, Virgil supposed.

                When another coat was draped over his shoulders, Virgil jumped where he sat, looking up to see Logan standing over him. Patton was in the doorway with his own coat draped over his arm.

                “Hey, kiddo,” Patton said in a hushed whisper, almost like he was afraid that the people inside the house would hear them. He stood next to the porch swing while Logan sat next to Virgil. “Was it a little too busy in there?”

                Virgil shrugged. “Kinda… I just… I don’t know what to say to people.”

                “Neither do I,” Logan admitted with a huff. “Social norms and conventions are perplexing.”

                Virgil smiled at that for a moment, but felt a frown quickly slip onto his face. “They’re all… talking about Patrice. I don’t know what to say about her.”

                “How would you?” Patton said gently as he knelt in front of Virgil. He looked up at Virgil with those big, soft hazel eyes. Open and warm as always. Virgil let Patton take his hands. “You didn’t know her the way we did. You only got to see one side of her.”

                “The bad side?” Virgil mused, and Logan chuckled at that.

                “That’s one way of putting it,” Patton conceded, giving Logan an amused look. “But really… It’s okay to be a little nervous. There’s a lot of people in there.” He cocked his head to the side a bit, looking a little worried. “But you could’ve said something if you were feeling overwhelmed.”

                “You startled us, disappearing like that,” Logan said sternly. Virgil avoided looking into Logan’s sharp and concerned eyes, and simply thought of an apology. Patton received it with a knowing smile.

                Patton reached under the folds of his winter coat, producing a small box wrapped in shiny green wrapping paper. He gave Virgil a small, sheepish smile before he pressed the box into his hands.

                ”Maybe it’s better to give this to you now instead of... putting you on the spot in front of the whole family.” He paused, then whispered, “Merry Christmas, Virgil.”

                Virgil blinked spastically. A Christmas present? He’d only ever received presents from Dahlia... and even then, they were small, convenient things. A pair of socks. A new pair of pants. A slightly-worn hoodie from the thrift store. This... this was different. It was his first official gift from his first official family.

                Virgil held the box close to his chest and swallowed down the emotion that bubbled restlessly in his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbled, staring down at the box.

                Patton smiled and pat Virgil’s knee. “Logan got something for you, too, but...” he gave Logan an interesting look, almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to mention the second gift.

                Logan shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “I think it’d be best to give you my gift later. When we’re not surrounded by No-Majs.”

                Smiling a bit, Virgil nodded. It probably had something to do with magic. He looked down at Patton’s gift again before he glanced at Patton shyly. “Can... can I open it?”

                Patton fidgeted, but there was an excited smile on his face as he nodded. “Go for it!”

                Pulling at the wrapping paper, Virgil felt his hands tremble in the cold, winter air. He’d been outside longer than he’d thought. But he didn’t want to go back inside now. He wanted to open his first Christmas present… he wanted to be with Patton and Logan when he opened it.

                It was some sort of music player. Virgil slid his fingertips across the front of the box, mouth ajar and in complete disbelief. It had a touchscreen. It held thousands of songs. It came with a new pair of earbuds. Had Patton known that Virgil’s CD player was broken? Did he know how much Virgil missed listening to music?

                “I _did_ notice,” Patton said softly as he nudged Logan’s leg with a grin. “And Logan brought up how attached you were to your old CD player. We figured it would be a waste to ignore your love of music.”

                Virgil bit his lip and shrugged. “I just… like music. I… this was probably expensive.” He held up the MP3 player and glanced back and forth between his fathers. “I don’t need anything this fancy.”

                Logan gave Virgil an exasperated look. “It’s a gift, Virgil. You shouldn’t worry about the price.”

                “But –” Virgil started, only to get cut off by Logan.

                “You tend to overthink things,” he said gently as he handed Virgil a CD. Virgil took it, looking at the album art carefully. It was a piano surrounded by snow-white fields. Logan tapped the plastic cover with a knowing smile. “It’s classical music, Virgil. Patton assured me we can put this music onto your new MP2 player.”

                “MP3 player,” Patton corrected gently. Logan waved it away.

                “Whatever. The point is,” he leaned forward to give Virgil a sideways hug. “It should help soothe your anxiety when you’re feeling overwhelmed.”

                Something welled up in Virgil’s chest; heat and pressure combined in a sticky, heady feeling that made Virgil feel like giggling. He smiled and leaned into Logan’s side, holding is present against his chest protectively. It was perfect. Something that might… _might_ take his mind off the madness that was following their family.

                Patton leaned forward to give Virgil an odd, lopsided hug from where he knelt on the porch. Virgil didn’t really mind the awkwardness. He just pressed his cheek against Patton’s soft, brown hair and listened to the sweet, warm way Logan laughed and said, “Merry Christmas.”

                Abruptly, Patton stiffened. “Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten that little _stunt_ in the living room, Logan!” He sat back to give his husband a half-serious glare. “That was a spell performed in front of No-Majs.”

                Logan quirked an eyebrow. “How would they possibly discern that? None of them heard me say the spell.”

                “I did,” Virgil said before he could stop himself. Patton gasped in fake-alarm, and Logan rolled his eyes.

                “Joseph Sanders is a homophobic, drunk, son of a –”

                “ _Logan_!” Patton gasped as Virgil smirked.

                Logan paused before saying, “Son of a… wonderful woman. And I think I’ve done the world a small service by knocking him off his figurative high-horse for a moment.”

                “It’s inappropriate!” Patton argued.

                “It was justified.” Logan stood from the porch swing, dusting snow off of his pants.

                “B-but still!” Patton pressed as he stood and tried to reprimand his husband.

                “Merry Christmas, darling,” Logan smiled as he pressed a quick kiss to Patton’s lips.

                While Patton fought himself and struggled to disagree, Logan ushered Virgil back into the warm house. Blood immediately rushed back into Virgil’s fingers and face, reminding him just how _cold_ it had been outside. The warmth almost stung as he wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

                “No. No, no, no,” Logan said sternly, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. After taking Virgil’s new MP3 player and stowing it away in their bags, he brought out a kerchief and held it to Virgil’s nose, quickly instructing, “Blow.”

                Virgil grimaced. “I can blow my nose by myself.”

                “Can you?” Logan asked sarcastically. “Where is the handkerchief I gifted you?”

                Virgil blinked. When had that been? Before school. Before Patrice. Before the incidents. Back in August? It felt like a lifetime ago. Logan allowed Virgil to take the kerchief from him as Patton came inside. The spoke to each other personably as Virgil wiped his face and stuffed the new kerchief into his pocket.

                Patton shooed Virgil down the hall, following behind him with a bounce in his step. “C’mon, c’mon! Dinner time, kiddo!” He was practically vibrating with energy. Virgil shook his head with a smile, seeing the way Logan winced at how tight Patton held his hand. Patton beamed and announced as they walked into the dining room, “There’s nothing like a Sanders Family Christmas Dinner!”

                “You’re darn right!” Dan said as he set the last dish onto the table with an air of finality.

                Virgil’s eyes went wide at the sight. Thirteen people sat at the table, and four more children sat at a small table by the television. Each table was still piled high with food; a roast, a hotdish, soup and salads and breads. Virgil’s mouth was watering before he even sat down.

                Logan pulled out Patton’s chair for him, and Patton looked positively smitten as he sat. Logan did the same for Virgil, allowing him to sit next to Patton as Logan took the seat next to Patton’s father. Food immediately began to make the rounds of the table. Chatter was struck up at a decibel that made Virgil’s ears hurt. But it was warm. And happy. And _real_. A family Christmas. Virgil just couldn’t stop smiling as he took the salad from Patton and passed it along.

                Things were nice for nearly three minutes… until Joe spoke again.

                “Doesn’t the _kid_ sit at the _kids_ table?” He asked rhetorically. The table didn’t even quiet down to listen to him. From the looks of it, Virgil was the only one that noticed. He caught Joe’s gaze from across the table, holding that steel-gray gaze that seemed hazy and unfocused. A few seconds stretched between them with Virgil’s hands frozen in mid-air and Joe’s hands clenched tightly on the tabletop. When he spoke again, this time it was louder than any other voice at the table. “This is the _adult_ table, kid. Go sit with the other kids.”

                “Joe, knock it off,” Dan said sharply, giving his brother a dark look. “Virgil can sit wherever he wants. Let’s just eat.”

                “Shoving himself back from the table melodramatically, Joe crossed his arms over his potbelly and huffed, “I don’t think I wanna eat if that _kid_ is staring at me.”

                Next to Virgil, Patton stiffened, his hand twitching to reach for his glass of wine. He didn’t, though. He simply sent Joe a menacing look. Logan, however, didn’t remain silent.

                “Don’t speak about my son as if he’s an inconvenience,” Logan said stiffly, his eyes boring holes into the side of Joe’s skull. Joe didn’t even dare to look at him.

                “Oh, _great_. Now the fag is gonna lecture us?” Joe said with a roll of his eyes.

                Patton coughed… but it was more of a shout. An alarmed, barking sound that Virgil had heard once before. “ _Cofundus!_ ” Tore its way out of Patton’s lungs, and Joe’s chair tipped back violently, sending Joe sprawling out across the floor.

                For a moment, there was silence. And then, just like before, everyone laughed. Virgil’s muscles relaxed, looking to Patton with a smile. Unfortunately, Patton looked mortified by what he’d done. His hand was clamped over his mouth and his eyes were wide.

                Across the table, Logan leaned forward to say with an amused grin, “I think that was rather inappropriate, don’t you?”

                While Patton sputtered and waved away the confused glances of his siblings, Virgil sat back in his seat and laughed until his stomach hurt.

+++++

                “Now, you’ve got everything? You’re sure you’re good to go?” Maria adjusted Patton’s cloak before moving onto Virgil, brushing his bangs out of his hair and straightening his traveling cloak. “And you’re warm enough, Virgil?”

                Virgil smiled and nodded, leaning back into Logan’s arm and he said, “We won’t be outside very long. Apparition is quick and efficient.”

                Maria gave Logan a playfully scolding look and batted his arm. “Don’t make fun of us Non-Magic people. Cars are _just_ as good as Apparating.”

                When Logan opened his mouth to no doubt disagree, Patton quickly reached out a hand to grip his bicep and keep him quiet. He smiled at his mother for a moment before giving her one last hug. “We’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll let you know when we get there.”

                Dan Sanders stood in the doorway of the closed garage, glancing back at the house to make sure no one was watching through the small garage window. Virgil eyed this with a grain of salt. Patton and Logan had done this before… and still, they had to be so careful. It was incredibly difficult balancing a life of magic with a non-magic family. Virgil had a newfound respect for his grandparents and their careful protectiveness.

                Logan was pulled down and given a kiss on the cheek by Maria, and she strictly ordered Logan and Patton to take care of each other, as well as Virgil. Virgil quirked an eyebrow. Were they ordered to take care of each other _every_ Christmas? It was a little childish.

                Patton glanced down at Virgil and gave him a wink. “We all gotta look out for each other, kiddo! That’s what families do.”

                Maria bent down to look Virgil in the eye. She was smiling, but something sad glimmered in her eyes. It was almost familiar. Did she see something in him? Something that reminded her of Nancy? Virgil bit his tongue and avoided asking, opting to fumble with the lining of his cloak.

                “Come back and visit us again, Virgil,” she said as she offered a hug. Virgil accepted it silently, his hands resting carefully against her shoulder blades. She sighed into his hair and pat his back fondly. She knew he was anxious. She knew he was wary. So she didn’t squeeze. She didn’t restrain. Virgil blinked slowly; it was like getting a hug from Patton. Maria gave his hair a slow pat as she mumbled, “Next time, it’ll just your Grandpa and me. Would that be nice?”

                Virgil smiled. Patton must’ve told her that the crowd made him nervous. He nodded and hugged himself a little closer to her. “Yeah… that sounds good.”

                “Don’t forget to call every once and a while,” Dan said with a tinge of sadness.  Virgil leaned back to see him smiling in the doorway, illuminated by the warm, gold Christmas lights that were hung in the windows of the house. He gave Virgil a knowing look before he clicked the light switch of the garage off. In the dark, his voice echoed ominously. “I don’t want to lose track of anymore kids.”

                “You won’t, Dad,” Patton promised. He sounded close… but far away at the same time. Here and gone. Logan didn’t say anything. Virgil doubted he even dared to breathe.

                Virgil jumped as hands landed on his shoulders. He nearly bolted, but held still when Patton said, “It’s just me, buddy. Hang on tight.”

                The last thing Virgil heard was the sound of the garage door creaking shut.  
+++++

                It was big. Tall enough that the outline of the house seemed to blend into the dark backdrop of the night sky. Wide enough that the wings blended into the broad trees along the edge of the property. The only thing that made the house stand out from the raw layout of nature was the white, white snow that outlined the dark gray of the house. Virgil blinked slowly as he took in the sight of a three-story home in the middle of the nowhere. This was where Logan grew up.

                Logan fidgeted where he stood on the front stoop, adjusting his collar as Patton smoothed Virgil’s hair. They were much more anxious to see Logan’s parents, it seemed. Virgil knew little about them… Logan didn’t like to talk about family life. But from what he’d heard… they’d been strict. Pushing for excellence. And well-off. Virgil glanced up. _Very_ well-off.

                Pausing his ministrations to Virgil’s hair, Patton glanced up at the front door and whispered, “Your brother is here.”

                Logan startled a bit, glancing back at Patton with wide eyes. “Wh-what? No. Mother and Father would’ve told me.”

                Patton’s eyes still seemed far away as frowned and said, “He’s here. I can hear him. He’s coming to get the door. Your parents told him that we’re here. Told him to make himself useful.”

                Logan shook his head. “They haven’t invited Emile to Christmas since –”

                “He’s just a few feet away,” Patton muttered, squeezing Virgil’s shoulders.

                Logan still looked shaken. “It doesn’t make sense. He _hates_ coming home. What would –”

                The door swung open to reveal a tall, smiling man. Virgil blinked. He and Logan could be twins with those thick-framed glasses and dark, chestnut hair. The only difference was… well, the smile. His was brighter. Warmer. More excitable. It was almost contagious as he glanced between the three people on the front step.

                “Ah, there he is! My favorite little brother!” Emile said as he pulled Logan into a hug. To Virgil’s surprised, Logan hugged back with vigor, clinging to Emile like a long-lost relative that he’d be separated from years ago. They rocked back and forth for a bit, Emile giggling excitably, before he pulled back and held Logan by his shoulders. “I heard you’ve been having trouble at work.”

                Logan blinked spastically. “I… I –”

                Emile waved that away. “Aw, we can talk about that later. I’m just glad to see _you_ in one piece. How’s the magical world treating you?”

                Fighting to find his bearings in the conversation, Logan nodded absently and muttered, “Fine, I suppose.”

                “Hmm. Sounds like you’re repressing something. We’ll have to talk about that.” Emile turned to Patton with a smile that looked… well… almost love-struck. “Patton… what number am I thinking of?”

                Patton giggled. “Forty-two.”

                “Fascinating,” Emile breathed with that awed, smitten smile. “Just _fascinating._ Let me study you, Patton. Please. Legilimency sounds just incredible!”

                Patton shrugged with a smile. “Can’t. It’s against the regulations of the MACUSA.”

                After sharing a brief laugh, Emile’s gaze finally landed on Virgil. He smiled brightly. “And you… you’re Virgil, right?” He held out his hand and adjusted his glasses. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani, Logan’s big brother. But I guess you already knew that, huh?”

                Virgil took Emile’s hand and shook it a bit. Emile glanced down at Virgil’s hand before stepping aside and inviting the trio into the house. Cloaks and jackets were removed and idle greetings were exchanged. This allowed Virgil a chance to look at the high ceilings and tall – almost endless – hallways that seemed to stretch into the unknown.

                Emile stepped forward to take the lead, taking everyone down the right hall. “Can I make a drink for anyone?”

                “It’s a little early to drink, isn’t it?” Patton asked innocently.

                “Mom and Dad are in the parlor,” Emile said in response.

                “I’ll take a scotch,” Patton responded immediately.

                Logan eyed him, but didn’t comment on Patton’s tense shoulders as he said, “I’ll have a dry martini.”

                “I bet we can find you some sparkling cider,” Emile said as he looked back over his shoulder at Virgil. Virgil grinned. He was starting to like Emile.

                Stopping outside a pair of double doors – that assumedly lead to the parlor – Emile went to work at a little drink cart, handing Patton his scotch as he mixed Logan’s martini.

                “So… tell me: How’s life? How ya doin? Who ya seen?”

                Patton took a sip of his scotch and smiled as Logan launched into a lecture on his new method of potion creation. He explained Virgil’s first experience with potions and how it inspired him to create a new safeguard for explosions with cauldrons. By the time he was finished, Patton was on his third glass of scotch and Virgil’s feet were getting tired from standing in the hall.

                “… and that’s why I’ll have to send in the registration paperwork for my new potion to the MACUSA soon.” Logan punctuated the end of his speech by finishing his martini.

                Emile sighed happily as he leaned against the wall. “Jeez… you wizards have it good. With your magical shortcuts and all.”

                Virgil blinked. “You’re not a wizard?”

                Patton paused to look at Virgil, then knocked back the remains of his scotch as Emile pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Nope! I’m what people call a Squib. A non-magical kid born from two magical people.”

                While Emile poured Patton yet another scotch, Logan pushed his glasses up on his nose. “That doesn’t make you any less of a Pincani, you know.”

                Emile laughed. “Mom and Dad beg to differ, buddy!”

                Patton took his glass and gave Emile a pitying look. “Don’t say that. You’re a great guy.”

                “Aw… are you sweet on me, Patton?” Emile said with a laugh, putting his hands into his pockets as he cocked his head to the side. “Why don’t you leave my workaholic brother and run away with me? We’ll show Virgil a fun time.”

                Virgil baulked at the offer, but Patton giggled and swayed where he stood. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m happily married.”

                Clicking his tongue, Emile shook his head. “If only I’d been born a decade later.” He gave Logan a winning smile. “You’re one lucky man, Logan.”

                As Patton started to sway again, Logan wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him still, muttering a low and fond, “I know.”

                Virgil squirmed awkwardly. Was Emile… in love with Patton? Did Logan know? Patton obviously did. Why weren’t they going inside the parlor? What were they _doing_?

                “We’re avoiding Logan’s parents,” Patton answered bluntly as he leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder.

                Logan didn’t look offended by this. In fact, the gave the doors of the parlor a cross look. “My parents are very… judgmental.”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. What did that mean?

                Patton spoke up. “It means they don’t like people that aren’t like them, kiddo.”

                Emile perked up. “Did you read Virgil’s mind?” Patton hummed affirmatively as he drank the last of his scotch. Emile sighed with that disbelieving, admiration-filled smile. “Just incredible. I wonder how your brain works.”

                While Patton handed Emile his glass for _another_ refill, Logan looked to Virgil. “Emile is a well-respected psychiatrist. His study is actually… quite interesting.”

                “The human mind is an interesting thing,” Emile smiled as he handed Patton his glass. “It’s our emotions, our motivations, our desires... all wrapped up with a neat little bow. It’s hard to understand it all. That’s what I’m here for.”

                Virgil pursed his lips as Emile mixed himself his own drink, idly chatting with Logan about the complexity of the decision-making process. Emile knew about people’s emotions? Their motivations? Could he look into Virgil’s fear of the attacks and soothe him? Could he possibly look at the attacker from Ilvermorny and tell him why they’d done it? Would he know what they’d wanted? Could a psychiastrist do that?

                “No, no. That’s not what Emile does, sweetie,” Patton slurred with a smile. He stood away from Logan wobbling where he stood, spilling a little of his drink over the edge of his glass. He didn’t seem to mind as he held up a finger and waved it in the air authoritatively. “That’s what _I_ did for the MACUSA when working off my crime.”

                “Oof, you committed a magical _crime?_ ” Emile asked with a hint of intrigue. “I’ve always been attracted to the dark and mysterious boys.”

                Patton gave Emile a tired, sidelong glance as he took a sip of his scotch. Logan was quick to put a supportive arm around his waist. He was starting to get a little unnerved by his brother’s advances. Virgil could see it in the uncomfortable, stiff line of his shoulders.

                “You know,” Emile laughed. “If you really loved me, you’d share him.”

                “That’s enough, Emile,” Logan said, though it wasn’t as barbed as it should have been. Virgil shifted where he stood, watching the way Emile nodded and apologized.

                Where they ever going to go into the parlor?

                A _clang_ echoed through the house, and Virgil jumped at the sound. A bell? No. It was the chime of a grandfather clock. The sound was unmistakable. As it chimed eight times, Patton set his glass back onto the drink cart. Logan did the same. Emile’s smile fell away and he smoothed the front of his beige jacket and pink, striped tie.

                “Ready to face the music?” Emile said, his smile returning – shakily – as he reached for the doorknob. Anxiety knotted in Virgil’s stomach as Logan simply sighed.

                Patton reached a shaky hand over to Virgil’s shoulder. After missing a few times, he gave Virgil a happy pat on the back. “You’ll be fine. They like wizards.”

                Logan twitched. “They like _pure-blooded_ wizards.”

                Before Virgil could respond to that correction, Emile opened the parlor doors and stepped inside. Virgil took Patton’s hand for support as they walked inside, eyeing the way Emile’s hands shook when they walked past a few rows of bookshelves.

                Virgil could hear the crackle of a fire. He saw books re-shelving themselves due to some sort of charm. And just softly, he heard the sound of a record-player playing the sound of a crooning violin. It was posh luxury at its finest. Virgil felt sorely out of place in his gray jeans and purple sweater. Patton had assured him that he looked “very handsome” before they’d left his parent’s house… but now, Virgil’s anxiety was kicked into high-gear.

                Further in the room, a luxurious sofa sat in front of the fireplace. A woman was sitting on the far side, a glass of wine perched in long, thin fingers as she watched the fire dance in front of her. Thin, gray hair was pulled back into a complicated twist, and she wore a black dress that Virgil could only describe as: elegant. This was Logan’s mother, no doubt. A set of armchairs bracketed the sofa, and in the farthest one, sat a man who looked like he was carved from stone. With a square jaw and a serious expression, he glared down at the book that was hovering inches away from his hand. With a three-piece suit and slicked back silver hair with a carefully trimmed mustache, he looked like an intimidating business man… or maybe even a lawyer. So… this was Logan’s father.

                Emile came to a stop beside the sofa, smiling as he indicated to Logan and company. “Here they are! Eight o’clock on the dot.”

                “I can see that, Emile,” Logan’s father said crisply as his book _snapped_ shut and fell into his waiting hand. He placed it on the small table beside him as he glanced up at Logan through thin, wire-framed glasses. After a tense moment, he cracked a small smile at Logan. “Good to see you, Son.”

                “Good evening, Father,” Logan nodded curtly before looking at his mother. “Mother. You’re looking well.”

                Logan’s mother turned to smiled at him with ruby-red lips. “I am, thank you. I see you’ve brought,” she paused, her smile falling, “Patton. Good evening.”

                Patton grinned, visibly swaying where he stood. Virgil held his hand a little tighter as Patton happily said, “Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Picani.”

                Mrs. Picani smiled, but it was more distasteful and enjoyable. “Yes… Merry Christmas, Patton.” She looked back to Logan, her smile refreshing and doting. “Are you going to introduce us to your...” she drifted off uncomfortably, indicating to Virgil with a flick of her hand.

                “My son,” Logan finished for her, sounding impatient and irritated. Virgil glanced up to see Logan glaring at his own mother. “He is Patton and I’s _son_.”

                “We know that, Son,” Mr. Picani said, as if he was trying to soothe Logan’s frayed nerves. It didn’t work.

                Logan indicated to his father with a low, tense tone in his voice. “Virgil, this is my father, Zachariah Picani.” He gestured to his mother, sounded just as on-edge as he said, “And this my mother, Elise Picani. Mother, Father… this is my son, Virgil.”

                Neither one stood up. Neither one offered to shake his hand like Dan Sanders or Emile. Even their smiles seemed fake and cracking as they gave him a long, appraising look.

                “It’s nice to meet you,” Virgil finally muttered after a discomforting silence.

                “And you,” Elise said, her lips curled around a smile that spelled anything but happiness. “Please,” she indicated to the sofa, “Take a seat. Zachariah and I have been so _anxious_ to meet you. Haven’t we, dearest?”

                Zachariah nodded slowly as Patton sat on the sofa farthest away from Logan’s parents. Once there, he focused his eyes on the fire and watched it flicker in front of him quietly. Virgil doubted he’d be doing much talking, unlike when he was with his own family. But… even Logan looked like he didn’t want to talk to his parents. He sat next to his mother, but looked unhappy as she pat his thigh.

                Virgil sat in the empty armchair while Emile stood next to it with a strained, tired smile. It was interesting… Logan’s parents seemed to really like him. They were very sweet to him. But not to Patton or Emile. That was probably why Logan was so tense. Virgil blinked; was that why Patton had been drinking so much? Was that why they never really spoke directly to Emile?

                Leaning forward in his chair, Zachariah rested his elbows on his knees and looked carefully at Virgil. “So, Virgil… tell me about your studies.”

                Virgil squirmed where he sat, looking to Logan for assistance. Unfortunately, Logan was busy glaring at his father. He looked back to Zachariah with anxiety twisting between his lungs. “I um… I like charms. And potions. Those are fun.”

                “That’s not what I’m asking about,” Zachariah said, almost sharply as he sat back and put his arms back onto the cushioned armrests of his chair. “I want to know if you’ve been receiving good marks on your schoolwork.”

                Virgil swallowed. Did he mean at Ilvermorny? Or when Logan and Patton had been homeschooling him? Because both were _very_ different answers. At Ilvermorny, Virgil hadn’t been able to sleep. He hadn’t been able to focus on his work. He’d been slowly falling down the rakings in his class, and it was a miracle he wasn’t bumped back to the first-year classes before he left.

                But, when they’d gone home, Virgil had been able to sleep. He’d made it through the night without horrifying screams or flashes of death. He’d been improving. He’d been able to focus without the lingering threat of death hanging over him.

                Unsure of which answer to give, Virgil once again looked to Logan. Thankfully, Logan was able and willing to answer for him.

                “He’s been doing very well,” Logan said tersely. “He’s steadily improving as we go over more difficult potion structures and stronger spells.”

                Zachariah raised his chin and gave Virgil a small smile. It was the first _real_ smile Zachariah had ever pointed towards him. “And his written academics?”

                Logan hesitated. That was Virgil’s weak spot. Magical history was tough. Even so, Logan didn’t let that weakness show as he said, “He’s very careful with his studies. Patton and I are extremely proud.”

                “Are you?” Elise questioned with a bemused smile. “Because Patton has been… uncharacteristically quiet.”

                Turning away from the fireplace, Patton’s eyes were heavy-lidded as he said smiled and said, “I’m drunk.”

                “Obviously,” Zachariah said with a disapproving shake of his head. Elise took a sip of her wine as she rolled her eyes. “Honestly… any other wizard would have been better for your son’s education, Logan.”

                “Agreed,” Elise nodded as she set her wine glass aside. “Patton isn’t very… diligent in his studies. Or his teachings, as we’ve heard. The school board has reported his works have been slacking as of late.”

                “That’s true,” Patton nodded in defeat. “I’m awful. Terrible, awful Patton…”

                Logan tensed and shook his head. “His… his _sister_ was murdered. It’s only natural that his work would suffer as a result of mourning.”

                “That is _also_ true,” Patton conceded sleepily with another nod. “I am _very_ sad.”

                For the first time, Emile spoke up. “When experiencing a loss in our lives, people can experience lethargy, shock, a loss of direction or purpose, and even a depression that can range from mild to severe.”

                Zachariah waved that information away. “Not now, Emile.”

                Emile shrunk back, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leaning against the side of Virgil’s armchair with a tight-lipped frown.

                “We’re just trying to think of what’s best for you and Virgil,” Elise cooed as she pat Logan’s hand. He snatched it away and Elise gave him a disapproving look. “Patton isn’t the best match for you. But we digress… tell us about Ilvermorny, Virgil.” She smiled at Virgil, and it sent an uncomfortable jolt through his stomach. He never knew a real smile could be dark and cold. And despite his clear discomfort, she held his gaze like a steel trap. “Do you have any idea which electives you’ll be taking in your fifth year?”

                Virgil blinked. “I’m… I’m only in my second year.”

                “It’s never too early to start preparing,” Zachariah said with a thoughtful twitch of his gray mustache. “We had all of Logan’s seven years planned before he even started at Ilvermorny.”

                Logan’s jaw clenched as he grumbled, “Virgil is _different_.”

                Elise scoffed and shook her head. “No, he isn’t. All young magical children are the same, darling. They’re all impressionable and moldable… they just need to be nudged in the right direction.”

                “Mother, this is _not_ your decision.” Logan looked ready to start a fight, but his mother ignored him.

                “What are your areas of strength?” Elise asked, sounding more invested in Virgil’s future than he did himself. “If you capitalize on either magical practice or potions, I know several special _private_ magical institutions that could help you streamline your education.”

                Virgil squirmed. He didn’t want to go somewhere else. “I… I just want to stay with Patton and Logan.”

                Patton, still hazy and sleepy, lifted his head to smile and sigh happily. “Aw… I want you to stay with us, too!”

                “Patton, for Merlin’s sake, be _serious_.” Zachariah glared in Patton’s direction, only getting more fired up when Patton looked at him in confusion. “We’re talking about the future of Virgil’s education, not your… your… _No-Maj_ normality!” He spat the word ‘No-Maj’ like it was a curse, and Virgil felt fire bubble in his stomach at the sound.

                “Father!” Logan hissed angrily.

                “I’ll draft a few letters to the Headmaster of Le Chion,” Elise said with a sly smile. She turned to Zachariah and tapped her finger against her chin. “I’m sure you still have the address from Logan’s days in school, yes?”

                “Wait just a moment –”

                “Hush, Logan. We’re doing this _for_ you,” Elise said with a flutter of her fingers.

                Zachariah sat back in his seat with a wide, satisfied grin in Virgil’s direction. Virgil shrunk beneath his gaze, pressing himself back against the padded cushions. “He’ll be set up in the finest institution money can buy. All-boy classes, private dorms, enormous libraries…”

                Patton looked surprisingly sober and alarmed as he sat forward. “Wh… private dorms? You… you can’t just send him across the country.” Virgil sighed with relief; finally, someone was being the voice of reason. Even if it was drunk. Patton waved dizzily to Virgil as he said, “He needs stability.”

                “That’s more than reasonable,” Emile nodded, trying to step-in and help once more. “Virgil is a growing child. And additionally, as an adoptive child, he needs to be provided constancy to ensure good mental health as well as –”

                “ _Stop_ interrupting us, Emile!” Zachariah ordered, his voice booming in the large parlor.

                “He’ll go to Le Chion starting this spring,” Elise said calmly, as if her husband hadn’t just shouted down their son seconds before. “I’m sure with a few recommendations, we could –"

                Finally, Logan stood from his place on the sofa and shouted, “This is _not_ your _decision_!”

                The room went silent. Virgil gripped the armrests of his chair uncomfortably. Logan was right… but his parents didn’t seem to be happy about that. Patton looked one breath away from falling off of the sofa. Emile was standing white-knuckled next to the armchair, unsure of whether or not to step-in and diffuse the situation. As a psychiatrist, he’d naturally try to help… but his parents weren’t interested in listening to him.

                Abruptly, Patton stood up. “It’s late,” he said unevenly, holding out his hands to Virgil. “You’re tired, huh? Don’t worry. I know where the guest rooms are.”

                Virgil blinked. He wasn’t tired, but he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to escape from Mr. and Mrs. Picani. Skittering into Patton’s arms, Virgil muttered a soft, “Good night,” to Logan’s parents as he and Patton slipped out of the room. Logan followed them with Emile in tow.

                The halls were quiet as they made their way to the guest rooms, and when Patton had reached his and Logan’s, he immediately went inside and collapsed onto the bed. Virgil watched as he started to snore almost instantly.

                Glancing back at Logan and Emile, Virgil sighed, “I’m sorry.”

                Emile cocked his head to the side. “For what?”

                Virgil shrugged. “Dunno… I feel like I started this whole thing.”

                Logan chuckled and shook his head. “No, you didn’t. Our parents have always been like this.”

                “Speaking of ‘always been like this…’ I think I’m going to head out.” Emile shrugged tiredly as he twirled a set of car keys around his finger.

                Logan gave him a strange look. “It’s late. You can’t make it all the way to the airport at this hour, can you?”

                Sighing heavily, Emile scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’ll hit up a hotel… that would be best for all of us, I think.”

                Logan hesitated to disagree. “But –”

                “Hey, it was great to see you. It always is.” Emile smiled and pulled Logan into a hug. “We need to get back to writing each other… I know we kinda let that slide these past few months.”

                Logan nodded. “Of course… I’ll be sure to write you.”

                Leaning out of the hug, Emile winked at Virgil. “And it was good to meet you, Virgil. I kinda wish it wasn’t so… _blah_ in this house, ya know?”

                Smiling a little, Virgil nodded and tugged at his sleeves tiredly as he gestured loosely toward the parlor. “Yeah… they’re kinda scary.”

                “No kidding!” Emile laughed a little as he took a few steps away. He gave Logan one more pat on the shoulder before he started down the hall. “Merry Christmas, all!”

                Emile disappeared around the corner, and Virgil fumbled with the hem of his sweater. He didn’t get to know much about Emile… the interactions were odd and disjointed. Must like the family relations in the Picani clan. They were unhappy. And cold.

                And yet… Logan was one of them. He was warm and kind and soft. And Virgil loved it. He loved having a dad. And even better, he had _two_ great dads. He smiled as Logan sighed and glanced back at him.

                “I’d rather not end this Christmas night with my parents…” Logan mused as he adjusted his glasses and walked Virgil to the room right next to his and Patton’s. He leaned his weight on the doorknob and gave Virgil a careful smile. “I’m glad I waited to give you your present.”

                Virgil’s heart leapt up into his throat. _Another_ gift? He was already itching to plug in his new MP3 player and listen to music. And now… now there was _more_? From the way that Logan leaned against the door, Virgil could only suspect that the present was hidden inside. Every fiber of his being had to tell Virgil to be patient and wait as Logan’s smile widened.

                After a soft, knowing chuckle, Logan reached one hand behind his back, and then brought it back out, holding a small parcel. Very small. It was hardly bigger than his hand. Virgil blinked. It was a stack of folded paper and envelopes, tied together with a simple piece of twine.

                “Oh,” he muttered, trying not to sound disappointed as he took the stack of papers. “Thanks, I uh… I’ve wanted some scratch paper for a while, so…”

                Logan held up a hand to stop Virgil’s bumbling attempt to feign excitement. “I think you’ll find these useful when responding to the letters.”

                He opened the door to Virgil’s room, and the dark space was immediately illuminated. Virgil’s jaw dropped. There, inside the room, stood a cage with a raven as dark as midnight, a golden envelope held in its beak.

                Logan followed Virgil into the room, indicating to the envelope. “And see here… you already have your first letter.” Virgil glanced back at Logan, seeing a cautious, hopeful expression in his face. When Virgil finally smiled, Logan relaxed and smiled back. “Merry Christmas, Virgil.”

                Virgil looked back to the raven. _His_ raven. It was beautiful... and much bigger than he’d expect a raven to be. It watched him, cocking its head to the side to see him as he inched toward the cage.

                “Can… can I touch it?” He asked, hesitantly reaching for the cage.

                Logan nodded. “Of course. She was specially trained to carry mail… and this raven is very fond of its keeper… or so the shop owner told me.”

                “She?” Virgil echoed with a smile, fumbling with the clasp on the cage. It opened easily, and the raven ruffled her feathers as she stretched out her neck, holding out the letter to Virgil. He took it gingerly, turning it over to see _‘Virgil Sanders’_ written in looping script along the front. He looked at the raven and smiled. “Thanks.”

                The raven made a low, purring sound that ended in a shrill chirp. Virgil squinted and laughed at the sound, and the raven bounced happily on her perch. Logan watched with a smile.

                “You’ll have to give her a name,” Logan said lowly. “And take good care of her.”

                “I will. This is _so cool_ ,” Virgil breathed, reaching out a hand toward the raven. Already, she was fond of him, poking his finger with the edge of her beak and waiting for him to pet her soft, smooth feathers. He laughed a little as he looked down at the letter. “Did you write this?”

                Logan raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t, actually… we received it the other day and assumed it would go well with this gift.”

                Withdrawing his hand from the cage – he left it open in case she wanted to stretch her wings – Virgil meandered over to his bed and sat down, pulling up the wax seal on the back of the envelope and pulling out a single piece of parchment.

_Virgil,_

_I don’t know if this will get to you by Christmas but I want to send it anyway. I did not know what my father was going to put in that letter. I’m sorry it happened like that._

_I miss seeing you at school. Nothing strange has happened since you left. So come back soon._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Roman Prince_

                Smiling a little Virgil looked at the new envelopes and paper Logan had given him. Maybe… even if he was homeschooled, he wouldn’t be all alone. Having a magical pen pal that exchanged letters by owls and ravens? That didn’t sound bad at all.

                “Don’t stay up too late,” Logan instructed as he pressed a kiss to the top of Virgil’s hair. “Good night, Virgil. Merry Christmas.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil smiled as he kicked his legs back and forth. He looked up at his raven, and she bounced happily on her perch. He smiled at the sight before grinning happily at Logan. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my... how the tables have tabled.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> See you next chapter.


	10. Hourglass years

                Virgil brushed his hair back and out of his eyes. The result was a view of his tired, pale face. He frown and ruffled his bangs back into his eyes, glaring at his reflection through the fan of his eyelashes. His thirteenth birthday had come and gone – with a new book and CD from Patton – and spring had flowed by, uneventful. When even summer slipped past, Virgil grew anxious about the upcoming school year.

                But no good news was ever delivered.

                He wasn’t going back… and neither were Patton or Logan. The investigation still crawled forward according to the MACUSA… but even with Logan’s insistent intent, no real information was given to him. They simply… floated along. Separated from the rest of the world in their little farmhouse. And it showed in the actions of Virgil’s parents.

                Logan didn’t seek out challenges to Virgil’s education. He was nearly subdued in every action he took. Patton didn’t go out as much. Even his smile was a little dim these days. And when Virgil had trouble sleeping, he would go downstairs to see if Logan was awake… only to see Patton and Logan at the dinner table, sharing quiet, worried words. Virgil almost always tucked himself back into his bedroom.

                At least with the addition of his MP3 player and the company of his raven, Nyx, he wasn’t as lonely as the months marched past them. He sent Roman letters. He rarely received replies. And even when he _did_ open his window for Nyx, the letters she brought were sadly short and distant.

                His thirteenth birthday was quiet, that year. Even in the care of a loving and warm family. In all his years in the care of an orphanage, he’d never dreamt a home could be so sad… or so lonely.

+++++

                “Fourteen years old _already_? Time flies! And _jeez_ have you grown since last year? Talk about a growth spurt!” Emile said as he handed Patton a glass of champagne. He adjusted his glasses before he gave Virgil a supportive slap on the shoulder. Virgil smiled shyly at the contact. He was nearly as tall as Uncle Emile, now. Patton seemed a little melancholic about that development, but rarely let it show. Emile gave Logan an interested look. “And how’s schooling? Are you thinking about next year?”

                Logan and Patton shared an uncomfortable look. “We’re still homeschooling,” Patton said as he rocked on his heels and fidgeted with his highball glass. “As for the next year…” Patton scratched the back of his head, oddly discomforted by the topic.

                “We’re waiting for an update in the investigation,” Logan cut-in, saving Patton from his awkward mumbling.

                Virgil narrowed his eyes at this. He’d heard that line for the past two years. ‘Waiting for an update’ could be the truth… but Virgil had a suspicion that Patton and Logan were simply scared. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Virgil shuffled down the hallway.

                “I’m gonna head to bed,” he mumbled as he waved at his parents and his uncle. “G’night Uncle Emile.”

                Patton seemed to feel Virgil’s disbelief, and merely smiled sadly as Virgil trudged away. Logan watched him go with a plain expression. The words: “Merry Christmas,” called after Virgil… but he wasn’t sure who spoke them. Nor did he really care.

                When he slipped into the guest bedroom, he winced at the cold air that met his face. He tsked and shielded his face. “Nyx!” He scolded as he went for the North-facing window. “I know you like to go out and stretch your wings, but…” he slammed the window shut and turned to the bookshelf – Nyx’s second-favorite perch. He jerked a thumb to the window and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s _way_ too cold for that. Why would you even go…” he blinked and glanced at the letter clamped in her coal-black beak as he mumbled, “Outside.”

                He ran for her immediately, taking the letter from Nyx and tearing it open. He hadn’t received a letter from Roman in… months, probably. The last one was a few weeks after his birthday. And even then, Roman didn’t write much. While Virgil fought with the wax seal on the envelope, Nyx scrambled to perch on his shoulder. That was her _favorite_ place to sit, even if her talons dug into his skin.

                Peeling back the evelope flap, Virgil dug out the letter, unfolded it, and read the short, three lined message.

_Sanders,_

_Stop writing to me. I won’t ask twice._

                – _Prince_

                Virgil didn’t move. He didn’t even know what to think. Was Roman just humoring him those two years ago? Had he just been trying to clear his conscious? And when Roman replied, he’d gotten tired. He wasn’t interested in talking to the kid that caused all the trouble in Ilvermorny.

                With shaking hands, Virgil slid the letter back into the envelope. Nyx nuzzled against his cheek, making a low, peeping sound when he picked at his hair. At least _she_ loved him. She was the only friend he had left. Even so… he didn’t have the heart to smile.

+++++

                Virgil sat at the bottom of the stairs, listening carefully as Logan and Patton had their annual ‘Should We Go Back to Ilvermorny?’ discussion. Nyx clung to his shoulder, obediently quiet and preening Virgil’s hair as he eavesdropped.

                “One of us needs to work, Patton,” Logan said lowly, his voice gravely with fatigue as he leaned heavily on the table. “We are draining our savings accounts. I don’t want to ask your parents for assistance again.”

                Hugging his arms around his legs, Virgil flinched. _Again_? When had they asked for money? We’re they struggling that badly? Patton fidgeted at the table, turning his coffee mug in circles while he thought.

                “I… I know,” Patton admitted, sounding oddly defeated. “And… Virgil said he was fine not getting anything for his fifteenth birthday, but his thoughts said otherwise…” There was an uncomfortable pause, and Patton murmured, “I… I thought about pawning some of my old Charms book collection so we could get him... well… _something_.”

                Nyx stopped preening. Virgil glanced at her, smoothing her puffed feathers. She could feel the unhappy atmosphere. She could tell Virgil was upset. It was a good bond… and he loved her very much. But still… it was little solace in the face of recent developments.

                Logan sighed heavily, and Virgil leaned around the banister to see his father set his glasses on the table. He looked _so_ tired. Like a shell of who he once was. Virgil sat back and shifted Nyx onto his forearm. She croaked oddly, and Virgil held her to his chest as he closed his eyes and listened.

                “Liquidizing our assets would prove counterproductive,” Logan muttered. “We _need_ most of the things we own. Furthermore, your Charms lore collection could be helpful for Virgil’s lessons.” Patton muttered something that Virgil couldn’t hear. Logan chuckled in response. “I don’t want to be late on another mortgage payment, love. Let me go back to work.”

                With arms shaking, Virgil’s eyes opened wide. They were late paying the mortgage? Was that why asked Grandpa and Grandma Sanders for help? Where they in danger of losing the house? How bad _was_ their current situation? Nyx fidgeted, and Virgil loosened his hold on her.

                “I… I don’t know if I can teach him everything,” admitted Patton with a grain of salt in his voice. “I’m no expert in history or runes… not to mention arithmancy.”

                There was a beat of silence, and Logan spoke again. “I’ll come home on the weekends, and we can review the rough spots together.”

                “No, no, no…” Patton’s hand tapped the table restlessly as he spoke. “Teaching separate classes at Ilvermorny _and_ home? That’s too much… and it’ll be so much traveling back and forth.”

                “I’ll be fine,” Logan insisted. Patton wasn’t convinced.

                “You’ll burn yourself out.”

                “I’ll be _fine_ ,” Logan repeated. There was another uncomfortable pause. Virgil pressed his nose into Nyx’s black feathers. She made a low, purring sound, trying to make him feel better. It didn’t work. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to believe Logan when he said, “We’ll _all_ be fine.”

+++++

                Patton had more migraines, these days. He tried to hide it, of course. But… with Logan gone at Ilvermorny during the week, Virgil was the only one able to help. Over the course of a cold, windy spring, Virgil helped Patton to bed more than four times.

                Now, in March, Virgil took essence of jarren root out of Logan’s home-potion cabinet. Patton watched through squinted eyes as Virgil took the dropper and carefully measured a bit of the liquid.

                “I’ll just take a nap, Virgil,” Patton sighed after a moment. Virgil gave him a sidelong glance, and Patton smiled tiredly. “That medicine… it’s pretty expensive. We should save it for something worse, yeah?”

                A quiet settled over the room. Virgil waited, hoping for something smart to come to mind. What should he say? What should he do? His hands moved on impulse, and he screwed the cap back onto the small vial. Patton sat up shakily, and Virgil reached to help him, only to get waved away.

                “I… was going to wait until after dinner to give you this,” he admitted in a low, breathy sigh. He reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a small package wrapped in plain printer paper. Virgil frowned. He didn’t need a present. Patton sighed again. “I know you don’t _need_ a present. But you should get _something_ for your birthday, kiddo.” He pushed the small parcel into Virgil’s chest. “Happy… Happy sixteenth birthday, sweetheart.”

                Virgil hesitated, looking down at the present questioningly. He had to say it. He couldn’t just go on pretending forever. He caught Patton’s hazy gaze and held it as he said, “I know we’ve been having money problems.” Patton blinked slowly, his smile never leaving. Virgil leaned forward and pressed the issue. “I’ve known since last year, Dad. I know it’s because you aren’t working at Ilvermorny.”

                “You shouldn’t worry about that,” said Patton as he closed his eyes and put a hand over his face. Was it because of the migraine, or did he not want Virgil to see his expression? Virgil couldn’t quiet tell. Patton’s voice was hardly a whisper when he said, “It’s the parents’ job to worry about the money. You just… just worry about having a happy birthday!” He was trying to feign excitement, but it just made Virgil’s chest hurt. He stood from the edge of the bed and headed for the door. Patton struggled to follow, trying to fix whatever he’d done wrong. “Hang on, kiddo. Let’s talk about it. It’s just that –”

                Virgil didn’t wait to hear him out. He slammed his parent’s bedroom door and went to his own room. Nyx had been waiting on the windowsill when he’d left… now, she was presumably out for a quiet flight. That left him all alone. He locked his door, ignoring the way Patton knocked on the door and asked to come in.

                He tore open his birthday present. Another CD. Cellos and violas were on the cover. Pulling out his wand, opened the package and tapped the disc twice, flicking the spell toward his MP3 player. It was his favorite charm that he’d made. But even that didn’t spark a feeling of pride as he set the CD aside and put his earbuds in his ears.

                He listened to the music. He loved the songs. Patton knocked… and he ignored it. He was better off alone. With the way things were… he was starting to think it would’ve been better if he’d never been adopted at all. They wouldn’t be struggling with money. They’d both be in work. They would’ve adopted a different kid. Maybe two. They would’ve been better than Virgil. They wouldn’t have ignored Patton.

                Virgil curled in on himself, all awkward long legs and thin arms as he hid under his blankets. Eventually, Patton stopped calling his name. He stopped knocking. Virgil listened to his new music, remembering Logan’s words about calming music from years ago. He closed his eyes, feeling frustration prickle in his stomach. Anger burning in his lungs. Fatigue pressing behind his eyes… and sadness clumped in his throat.

                It was his sixteenth birthday… and the very first birthday he hadn’t spent with both parents.

+++++

                 “An executive assistant?” Emile asked incredulously, his glass of wine already half-empty. He stood with Virgil in the Picani residence on a chilly, Christmas Eve. Logan and Patton were still fending off Mr. and Mrs. Picani’s pointed attention. Virgil took advantage of the situation and pulled his uncle aside. Emile looked more startled than interested in the proposition when he said, “You’re looking for a job?”

                Virgil shrugged and tilted his glass of sparkling cider to the side. “Yeah. It might be nice to have a little extra money, ya know?”

                Emile quirked an eyebrow at that and mumbled into his glass, “For _what_?”

                Virgil’s brain stuttered and stopped. Emile was a psychiatrist. Would he know that Virgil was hiding something? From the look on his uncle’s face, it was clear that he knew _something_ was off. Fidgeting restlessly, Virgil leaned against of Mr. and Mrs. Picani’s bookshelves.

                “I know my Dad’s are having money problems and…” Virgil shrugged uneasily. “I just… I just want to help.” Emile was silent, and Virgil avoided looking him in the eye. “I figured that if I got a part-time job, I could help cover some expenses. I know… I _know_ they’re mostly spending it on me.”

                Tapping his index finger against the side of his glass, Emile raised his chin ang gave Virgil an inspecting look. “All right… and how is your homeschooling coming along?”

                Virgil hesitated and shakily recovered with a mumbled, “Fine.”

                Emile didn’t buy it. “I think you should be more focused on your education, Virge. No offense to your work-ethic, but I just think… learning is more important.”

                Sputtering, Virgil tried to reclaim his last glimmer of hope. “B-but the money…!”

                Setting his wine glass aside, Emile crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not for you to worry about, buddy. I can’t – in good conscious – hire you when you’re struggling with your studies. Your dads are working hard so you can get a quality education in the safety of your own home.”

                Slamming his cup down, Virgil shouted, “I don’t _want_ to be in the safety of our house anymore!”

                The sitting room went quiet. Emile leaned back with a calm, passive expression. He’d probably been trained to keep a level head with explosive patients. Virgil blinked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He glanced over to the sofa and armchairs where his parents sat, wide-eyed and staring at him. Patton looked half-pickled with gin, but still held that familiar look of wounded misunderstanding. Logan looked lost amid the abrupt interruption, and seemed a little disoriented by Virgil’s outburst.

                Carefully, slowly… Emile put an arm around Virgil’s shoulder and walked him out to the hallway. There, they stood in relative quiet while Virgil calmed himself down. The only thing that broke the silence was Emile’s quiet instruction to breathe deeply and exhale slowly.

                “How ya feeling? Okay?” Emile’s voice was soft as he spoke. So soft, it reminded Virgil of how Patton used to sound. Back when he still laughed every day. Back when he made jokes freely. Back when… Virgil closed his eyes and nodded. Emile gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “You want to talk?”

                Virgil swallowed thickly as he fidgeted with his sweater sleeves. “I just… want to help…”

                After a few seconds, Emile heaved a resigned sigh. “How about this: you help me on the weekends. Help me get my appointments in order on my schedule. I can’t pay you a fortune, but I _can_ give you something. But,” he caught Virgil’s eye. “I want to meet with you once a week. Just to talk.”

                Virgil winced at the suggestion, taking a tentative step back. “Why?”

                “Relax, buddy. I’m not saying anything is wrong with you. I just think _everyone_ could use someone to talk to.” Virgil made a face at that, and Emile chuckled. “You’re seventeen, Virgil. You’ve got crazy hormones and hard opinions churning in that noggin of yours. Plus, you’ve got magic added to the mix. I’d be happy to sit down and listen to whatever is making you upset, anxious, or something that just confusing you. It’s what I was trained to do.”

                Hesitating, Virgil pursed his lips. “Patton and Logan already listen to me.”

                Emile was quiet when he responded. “Sometimes, it’s good to have an outside ear, Virgil. There are some things you can tell others that you… you just can’t say to your parents. Maybe because you’re scared. Maybe because you’re angry.” He put a hang on Virgil’s shoulder. Supportive and kind. Virgil lifted his stare from the floor, seeing Emile’s warm, melancholy smile. “But you can’t bottle it all up.”

                Glancing to the door of the sitting room, Virgil saw his parents sitting on the sofa. Quiet. Tense. Uneasy in their own lives… unsure in their conviction. Virgil sighed and turned back to his uncle.

                “When do we start?”

                “Let’s wait until summer,” Emile said with a smile. It was pitying, but it didn’t bother him. If he were Emile, he’d pity himself, too. Emile was quiet when he said, “We’ll see how things go… who knows? Maybe you’ll be back in school next year.”

+++++

                “He needs these classes to _graduate,_ Patton!” Logan said as he slammed a pile of papers onto the dining room table. Patton didn’t respond. He just glared at the papers as if _they_ were the issue. Logan leaned his palms against the table, pressing his weight into the wood. “They are advanced classes that you are not licensed to teach.”

                Patton paused, his voice catching in his throat when he tried to fight the obvious. “I… I could petition to get a –”

                “A certification for _five_ courses?” Logan asked skeptically. He stomped around the dining room and into the living room, his voice growing a little muffled as he retrieved something from his work briefcase. “Surely, Patton… you know that you can’t teach him five _advanced_ courses alone.”

                Virgil could feel the familiar freezing cold grip of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, but he wasn’t in any hurry to run away. He sat back against the stairs, almost numb to the argument. Five years of arguing. Five years of uncertainty. Of Patton sitting awake at the dinner table in the middle of the night, talking to Logan on the phone and desperately trying not to cry when he says that he misses him. Of Virgil debating the pros and cons of throwing his textbooks out the window. Of Logan only coming home on the weekends, exhausted and spent… only to help with other lessons.

                Enough was enough. They needed to make a change, whether or not Patton and Virgil were ready for it. They were scared and unsure… but they couldn’t hide in their farmhouse forever. And if Logan needed to use graduation credits as an excuse, then so be it.

                Patton, however, continued to push back. “The investigation, Logan,” his voice trembled, just a bit, but enough that even Virgil could hear it from the stairwell. “The investigation isn’t finished.”

                “The official statement on Patrice’s case was written as ‘Inconclusive Evidence,’” Logan said, his voice stern and unyielding. “They aren’t even going to continue investigating.”

                “How can we just… how can we just accept that?” Patton sputtered, Logan’s voice was sharp as something _cracked_ against the table.

                “I’ve already accepted it! Now _you_ need to accept it!”

                There was a long, unhappy pause. Virgil took a breath, struggling to release the tension in his hands. His hands were clenched tight enough that he felt his fingernails cut into the skin. They rarely spoke about the investigation, these days. It always ended with Patton falling into an uneasy, discomforted quiet, and Logan stalking off to the far side of the house, attempting to calm his irritation.

                A few seconds passed. Virgil absently wondered if Patton was sifting through Logan’s thoughts. Maybe Logan was whispering. Maybe their expressions said more than words ever could. Virgil didn’t know. He stayed on the stairs, his hands clasped together as he waited with baited breath, wondering if this was the last time they would ever fight about Ilvermorny.

                Logan let out a long sigh. “I know… you’re upset, Patton. I know you’re afraid. But… I can’t do this anymore.” Patton said something inaudible, his words shuddering with the wobbly tone of tears that Virgil knew too well. “Yes, I understand. I’m tired, too.”

                Guilt settled into Virgil’s stomach, cold and heavy. Leaning against the banister, Virgil sighed and closed his eyes. Living the way they did… they were all tired. Logan was tired of running between work and living at home. Patton was tired of trying to protect Virgil while hiding from the unknown attacker at Ilvermorny. Virgil… he was tired of living in isolation. Tired of only seeing people on holidays. Tired of wondering what would come next.

                They were all exhausted.

                “I know, honey…” Patton said softly. Virgil blinked and lifted his head, listening carefully as Patton set a glass of coffee on the table. There was a whisper of movement, and Virgil sighed when Patton muttered, “I just wish there was... some way to guarantee that… that nothing bad will happen this time.”

                There was a pause. A shift in the atmosphere. The burn of acknowledgement. And the peace of ignorance. Logan’s voice was so, so gentle as it echoed through the night-darkened halls of the house.

                “There’s never a guarantee, my love.” Virgil leaned forward, catching a glimpse of Logan pressing a kiss to Patton’s forehead. There, he stood next to Patton, cradling Patton’s head against his stomach while Patton clung to him. They were quiet for a second, simply soaking in each other’s comfort before Logan muttered, “That’s why we have each other.”

+++++

                Virgil sat quietly in the carriage on the way to Ilvermorny, only half-interested in the scenery they passed. Logan and Patton were talking about their classes, and every so often, there would be a lapse in the conversation that left the trio in an uncomfortable silence. Everyone was uneasy, despite Patton’s optimistic dismissal of their fears. Virgil was especially agitated; he faced the brunt of the attacks all those years ago. Was he going to face those same situations all over again?

                “No, you’re not,” Patton answered his thought as he carriage jostled and shook. Virgil gave his father a sidelong look, and Patton smiled gently. “This time… things will be different, kiddo. I can feel it.”

                Virgil nodded absently, looking out at the forest with a hint of suspicion. Logan watched the trees as well, pulling his cloak a little tighter around himself. The carriage shuddered and rocked while it passed through the barrier around Ilvermorny, and the surrounding forest melted away to reveal the lush, warm, green grasses of the campus.

                Twisting in his seat, Virgil watched the castle draw nearer. Had it been five years since he’d seen those tall, broad gates? Five years since they left and didn’t dare to look back? Five years since Roman Prince stood at the edge of the school walkway, crying for forgiveness?

                Virgil grimaced and turned back in his seat, hunching his shoulders as he sidled down into a comfortable position. Like this, he could see Nyx in her cage, perched on the back of the carriage. He stuck his tongue out at her. She responded with an indignant _merp_ sound. He smiled, trying to push troubling thoughts from his mind as they carriage approached the school.

                He didn’t want to think about Roman. He didn’t want to remember those lonely days when he wished he had someone, _anyone,_ to talk to. He’d spent five long years isolated from the rest of society, burning alive in his own thoughts while he attempted to appear unfazed. When Roman had told him to stop writing all those years ago, Virgil had plummeted into one of the first pits of depression he’d truly experienced. It was terribly dark. And horribly frightening. And so damningly numb… Virgil thought he’d never make it out.

                Patton had heard his thoughts before Virgil could do anything to himself. It prompted a long, emotionally exhausting conversation between the two of them. But, despite Patton’s offer to hire a therapist, Virgil had declined. He didn’t want to talk to a stranger about his problems, regardless of whether or not they were a No-Maj. Still… silence had allowed those feelings to fester. His meetings with Uncle Emile had helped, of course. But not completely.

                Virgil was still bitter about that short, barbed letter. He was offended by the lack of interest… the off-handed manner of it. The nerve of Roman Prince. Virgil blinked and shook his head; he needed to stop thinking about this.

                “This time is different,” Patton reassured him again. The carriage pulled to a stop, and Logan stepped out first, helping Patton down. Turning to smile up at Virgil, Patton waved him onward. Virgil hesitated, giving his father a long look.

                His familiar hazel eyes were starting to wrinkle around the edges from smiling. The hair at his temples was beginning to go gray. There were bag under his eyes… not dark and not quite worrying, but tiring nonetheless. Virgil frowned. Had Patton always looked this tired? How long had he been like this? Was Virgil just ignoring it?

                Trying to fight the wave of discomfort that washed over him, Virgil stumbled down onto solid ground, pulling Nyx’s cage off of the back of the carriage. She fluttered her wings, chirping at her new surroundings. Virgil shushed her as a tall, authoritative figure walked towards them.

                Long ago, it had been Patrice that met them at the gates. It had been the first time Virgil had -- unknowingly -- met his aunt. It had been one of the world’s worst introductions. Terse and uncomfortable for both parties. Virgil narrowed his eyes at this stranger, tensing himself for more unwelcome interactions. Nyx noticed his anxiety, and her feathers puffed up wildly, causing her to take up almost the entire cage. Virgil had to fight a smile at that.

                “Mr. and Mr. Sanders, I presume?” The stranger asked as they approached, their hands on their hips and a smile on their face. Virgil blinked. Was this the new Principal? They were… _very_ different from Patrice. Their smile was warm and authentic. Their eyes were glittering with excitement. And the cloak they wore glimmered with some sort of light, brilliant charm. They came to a stop in front of Patton and Logan, shaking each of their hands enthusiastically. “I can’t tell you what a _pleasure_ it is to _finally_ meet the two of you!”

                Virgil stood to the side, nearly startled by the welcome. He wasn’t sure what to do. How was he supposed to say hello? Did he even _have_ to? It had been a long time since Virgil had been out in public… and it probably showed.

                Logan looked affronted by the greeting as well, and he jerked his hand away. “I’m sorry, but… who are you?”

                The stranger paused, their hands still suspended in mid-air as they blinked spastically. Abruptly, they laughed. “Where are my manners? Principal Remulus, at your service.” He gave Logan a short onceover. Virgil could almost see the way he paused on Logan’s loafers and his clean, precise tie. “ _You_ must be Logan,” he grinned before turning to Patton. He didn’t check Patton. He just caught his eye, smiled, and took his hand once more. “And you are Patton… a pleasure, really. An honor, in fact.”

                “A p-pleasure…?” Patton sputtered, glancing at Logan for some sort of assistance. Logan had none to give. He was just as flabbergasted and staring at Remulus in disbelief.

                Principal Remulus nodded excitedly, shaking Patton’s hand continuously as he spoke. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you and your… should I say ‘ability?’ Or is that rude?”

                Patton’s eyes went wide and he looked to Logan again. When no help was received, he looked to Virgil as if to plea for help. Virgil sent an apology as he shifted his weight between his feet uncomfortably. He didn’t know what to do. If Logan didn’t know how to help, how could _he?_

                Dropping Patton’s hand quickly, Remulus clicked his tongue and smiled. “Oh, the look on your face. Just… precious. Don’t worry, Patton, your secret is safe with me. I just need to know because of new policies put in place for staff safety.”

                He flashed Patton a winning smile, but Patton didn’t look soothed. In fact, he merely looked more put-off when Remulus turned his gaze on Virgil. Virgil felt something… something sharp. Fear? Probably. It was uncomfortable. Like a muscle spasm in his back, a pinching feeling just under his ribcage. He blinked at Principal Remulus’ smile. He couldn’t smile back. Damn, if this was how he made a first-impression with the Principal, he was _really_ rusty with social interaction.

                “Virgil, right?” Remulus stepped toward him, extending his hand toward Virgil, but stopping short. He took his hand back before Virgil could grab it. “I heard about what happened with my predecessor.” Pain, pain, pain… like the tip of an iron nail going through the back of Virgil’s lung. He took a deep breath and met Remulus’ eye. They were gold and sharp. The kind of sharp that reminded Virgil of Logan. The sharp that reminded him of hard work and cutting wit. Remulus smiled. “It’s a shame about those accidents... let’s make sure they don’t happen again, yeah? I’d like your last year at Ilvermorny to be an enjoyable one.”

                Swallowing thickly, Virgil nodded and adjusted the way he held Nyx’s cage. “Yes, sir.”

                Remulus chuckled. “Sir? Is that me? I must be getting old,” he muttered under his breath as he turned to Logan and Patton. “The two of you will need to accompany me to my office. There are several new safety protocols that have been put into place since the… incident.”

                “You mean the murder,” Logan corrected tersely, only to wince when Patton stepped on his foot harshly.

                “We understand,” Patton said before Logan could reprimand him. For the first time since they arrived, there was a smile on Patton’s face. He looked relieved. Content and at ease. “I’m glad something was done to improve safety.”

                “Of course!” Principal Remulus nodded. “The safety of our students is Ilvermorny’s Top Priority. Virgil,” he shifted his gaze onto Virgil, and Virgil squirmed under the scrutiny. “I understand you were sorted when you first came here?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil mumbled, shifting his duffel bag on his shoulder. “Puckwudgie.”

                Remulus smiled again, and it looked a little tired this time. “Then, by all means, get settled into your dorm. I’m sure your classmates will be happy to see you again.”

                Virgil hesitated to move. He was being sent away? Just like that? Patton and Logan were going with Remulus… Virgil was on his own. Left to face the cursed halls that tried -- and failed -- to kill him all those years ago.

                Surprisingly, Patton didn’t seem to notice his worries. He simply waved Virgil toward the grand double-doors of Ilvermorny’s entrance. “Go on, kiddo! We’ll see you at dinner.”

                Shrugging tiredly, Virgil started his trudge up the stairs, hearing Remulus call, “Welcome back to Ilvermorny, Virgil!” He paused, glancing back at the new Principal with a hint of a smile. Remulus grinned back, all straight-teeth and glowing golden eyes. “We’re so happy to have you in our hallowed halls again. You, and your parents.”

+++++

                “I don’t like him,” Virgil said decisively as he sat in Logan’s armchair, kicking his feet back and forth agitatedly. Logan quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t reply. He was uneasy, too. Virgil could feel it. They both knew something… _something_ wasn’t right. Pulling up his legs, Virgil rested his chin on his knee and repeated, “I don’t like him.”

                “Boys, boys, boys…” Patton groaned as he held his head dramatically. “You’re giving me a headache with all of your suspicion.”

                “I think we have every right to be uneasy, love,” Logan said as he unpacked his textbooks and neatly stacked them on his desk. “We can’t afford to be complacent.”

                “Who said anything about complacent?” Patton asked with a shrug. “I didn’t! And I think you boys are being paranoid.” He opened up the dresser drawers and started to place neatly-folded sweaters into the top drawer. At the top of the dresser, Nyx was perched and preening. Patton reached up to tickle under her chin, and she purred and clicked happily. He turned back to Logan and Virgil with a scolding expression. “Sure, Remulus is a little… _different_ from what we’re used to, but that doesn’t mean we have to go suspecting him of something.”

                “He seemed oddly happy to see us,” Logan mused as he tapped his index finger against the cover of his arithmancy book. “Almost… _too_ happy.”

                “Logan,” Patton said, his voice dripping with a warning. In a flutter of feathers, Nyx perched herself on Patton’s shoulder and glared at Logan. “See? Nyx is on my side.”

                “Ah,” Logan blinked slowly. “Because the opinion of a carrier pigeon is more trustworthy than that of your husband?”

                “ _Hey_ ,” Virgil said indignantly. Nyx heard the distress in his voice and flapped over to him, perching on his shoulder instead. He stroked her feathers as Logan rolled his eyes. “Nyx is smart.”

                “And a good judge of character!” Patton insisted as he straightened his glasses. Nyx had knocked them askew when she took flight, but Patton didn’t seem bothered. He simply went back to unpacking. “I’m just saying we shouldn’t be so quick to suspect everyone, honey. If we do, this is going to be a _long_ year.”

                “My apologies,” Logan said, mostly to Nyx, before watching Patton’s back for a moment. “But I think discretion is necessary.”

                Shoving sweaters into the drawer harder than was necessary, Patton clenched his jaw and didn’t reply. Virgil didn’t blame him. He was trying to be the optimist of the family, but… even _he_ couldn’t feel comfortable. Ilvermorny was riddled with danger. For all they knew, the murderer was still hiding in the halls. Virgil and Logan were on high-alert. Patton was uneasy… but still trying to balance them out.

                After a solid minute of air-thickening silence, Patton let out a heavy sigh. “Logan, honey…”

                “I’m sorry,” Logan muttered as he set down a book.

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow; what was Logan thinking? Something barbed and irritated? Neither parent dared to speak those thoughts out loud as Patton took a seat on the bed.

                “I think it’s nice that our new boss is enthusiastic,” Patton murmured, almost like he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine. “And the new policies put in place are specifically made to keep those things from happening again.” He met Virgil’s eye and smiled a little bit. Virgil couldn’t help but smile back. Patton’s eyes softened just a bit, and he leaned his elbows against his knees. “I was anxious about coming back, but… things look pretty well put-together under Remulus’ care.”

                Logan adjusted his glasses – a higher prescription than he needed when they’d adopted Virgil – and tapped his thumb against the cover of a book tiredly. “I will admit, I didn’t think Ilvermorny would be running so efficiently in the wake of the attacks.”

                The room settled into a peaceable quiet, broken only by Nyx’s content, gentle trills of sound. After a moment, she flew over to Logan, settling on his shoulder as he sorted through his books. He wasn’t bothered by her presence. He even stroked her feathers before returning to his books.

                Virgil watched with a soft smile, trying to absorb the warm feeling in the room before he had to return to his dorm. The Puckwudgie dorm was just as he remembered; people stared in confusion as he walked through the doors. No one spoke directly to him. He climbed seven floors – which was much harder than he remembered, especially when carrying Nyx’s cage – and settled into an empty room.

                “It’s weird being back,” Virgil finally said, breaking the silence. Logan and Patton looked at him, and Virgil almost felt pity in their gazes. He shrugged it off and sat back in Logan’s armchair. “I mean… it’s kinda like a different place.”

                “Things are different,” Logan admitted as he gave Nyx a treat. She bobbed on his shoulder happily, flicking her tail feathers while Logan crossed his arms and sighed. “But I hope it’s for the better.” He gave Virgil a sharp look. “And with hard work, I’m sure your grades can only _improve_.”

                While Virgil shrunk under the enquiry, Patton perked up and gave Logan a scolding look. “But let’s not forget you’re also here with _other_ students,” he said lowly before he turned to Virgil and gave him a smile. “It’s a good chance for you to make some new friends, kiddo.”

                Virgil made a face at that. “I’m still the weirdo that was ‘attacked’ all those years ago.”

                “But that was five years ago,” Patton tried to soothe him, waving the worry away. “I don’t think that many people would remember that. Kids get bored pretty darn easily.”

                Virgil squirmed nonetheless. “I guess? I mean, word travels fast, plus…” Plus, there was Roman Prince. Had he told people about the letters they shared? Had he told people how he cut Virgil off? How he had to demand Virgil _stop_ writing him? It made Virgil stomach hurt to imagine what Roman had said… and who he had spoken to. He rubbed his arm tiredly, trying to smile at the way Nyx was preening Logan’s hair. “It’s whatever.”

                Patton sat back a bit, obviously hearing Virgil’s thought process. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes, but he didn’t let it go any further in his body language. Instead, he went to his and Logan’s desk and pulled out a stack of paper and envelopes.

                “Make sure to write Emile,” Patton ordered with a smile. “And thank him. Maybe he’ll let you work for him again next summer.”

                Virgil took the paper, dropping it into his lap with a huff. Working for Uncle Emile had been, in a word, boring. A lot of writing names in tiny little slots, sitting at a tiny little desk, and telling Emile his tiny little problems. He didn’t like talking about his issues with… well, anyone. He would’ve been just as happy to keep all his emotions bottled up in his chest and let his magic cave in on him. Maybe it would’ve crushed him. That would’ve been interesting.

                “Please don’t think like that,” Patton said from the other side of the room. Virgil looked up from the papers, seeing Patton giving him a warning look. Virgil grinned innocently, and Patton melted. “Write to him,” Patton said again, pointing at the papers. “Tell him we made it safely. I’m sure he’d be happy to know.”

                Letting his head loll back against the chair, Virgil groaned, “Doesn’t Dad already write to Uncle Emile? He can just say that we made it.”

                “I’m very busy,” Logan said as he leisurely flipped through an old textbook. Virgil grimaced.

                “But _Dad_ ,” Virgil whined, trying to shove the papers onto their bed.

                “Listen to your father, Virgil,” Logan replied absently as Nyx hopped from his shoulder onto the desk. He waved her toward Virgil, and she obediently went to perch on Virgil’s shoulder. “Take Nyx with you. And remember your cloak… it’s windy at the owlery.”

                Taking a sheaf of paper and an envelope, Virgil pressed his cheek into Nyx’s feathers as he stalked out of the room. As it was the first open-campus day at Ilvermorny, not that many students had arrived yet. That left the halls pleasantly empty as Virgil wound his way through the corridors.

                After five years, Virgil was impressed his own ability to navigate the school. How did he remember it? Muscle memory? It was almost like walking through a dream. An old, nearly-faded memory of a place he’d visited in his imagination. And, if he were whimsical, he’d imagine that it _was_ a dream.

                Being back in Ilvermorny? Attending classes again? It was almost too farfetched to believe. Patton had fought tooth and nail to keep them away from Ilvermorny. He didn’t want to lose anyone else. It was a noble fight, that was understood… but there were some things they couldn’t accomplish in their little corner of nowhere. Even this that in mind, Logan had been hesitant for years. Unsure and uneasy… he’d been unlike himself. All because of what happened to them five years ago.

                And yet… there they were. In Ilvermorny once more.

                Virgil rounded a corner and started up the steps of the owlery, feeling the early-autumn wind cut through his traveling robes like an icy knife. The air still held the scent of warmth, the promise of summer… but the chill in the breeze said otherwise. Virgil climbed anyway, soothing Nyx as she puffed out her feathers and ruffled his hair unhappily.

                Once he reached the top of the steps – he was much, much higher than he’d liked to be – he settled down on the step and let Nyx explore the owlery. She hopped along the stone floor, squawking indignantly at the other avian creatures that inhabited the tower. Once she found a small, brown carrier pigeon that cooed happily at her, Nyx bounced away and left Virgil to his writing.

                The breeze made it hard to hold the paper flap, but he managed to scribble a half-hearted greeting. He wrote that they made it safely. He wrote that he was… fine. Totally fine. He scribbled that out, trying to recover with something lighthearted. Could he make a joke in a letter to his uncle? Would Emile see through that? He _was_ a psychiatrist. He’d probably know that Virgil was hiding his anxiety. Made he could –

                “Oh,” Virgil’s head snapped up to see someone standing over him.

                Tall. Brown hair. Wide, blue eyes. Insanely hot. Virgil’s jaw dropped. What was he supposed to say? How did he talk to strangers again? He forgot. It had been five years. Oh god… he was probably staring. Averting his eyes, Virgil let his hair fall into his eyes as he pretended to scribble on paper. Maybe… just _maybe_ the stranger would go away.

                “I didn’t think anyone else was up here,” the stranger said, a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice.

                Virgil pursed his lips but didn’t say anything as they squeezed past him at the top step, stalking around the owlery with long, authoritative steps. Virgil glanced back at him, seeing those long, long legs and broad shoulders as the stranger pivoted his hips and spoke to a… Virgil blinked. A barn owl. That was… that was Roman’s owl. Virgil’s eyes snapped up to the stranger’s back.

                That curly hair. Those wild, blue eyes… it was Roman Prince. Virgil’s jaw dropped again, this time in frustrated disbelief. Roman had _changed_. From an obnoxious, hard-headed, stubborn little boy into a… well, the most attractive damn person Virgil had ever seen. That only made his rejection all those years ago _worse_.

                Virgil frowned, turning his back to Roman and hunching over his letter with a hint of bitterness. He wrote about this feeling. How frustrating it was to know that Roman didn’t remember him. How angry he was to see how handsome Roman turned out. How upset he was that he was… dare he say, _attracted_ to him. Virgil grit his teeth and scribbled that out. What hadn’t he brought a pencil and eraser? Doing this in pen was ridiculous.

                “Is that… Nyx?” Roman excitably. Virgil twisted where he sat, catching a glimpse of Roman cooing to Nyx and smoothing her midnight black feathers. “Look at you! I haven’t seen you in… so long.”

                Virgil frowned. Why did he sound sad? He was the one that cut off their communication. There was a soft, almost melancholy look in Roman’s eyes as he let Nyx nibble on his fingers. He looked lonely. How could someone as socially adept and hopelessly beautiful man be _lonely_?

                “Wait… is… is Virgil here?” Roman sputtered for a moment, turning in a circle as if he expected Virgil just simply appear behind him. Virgil watched with a smirk. He was adorable. And adorable idiot. Virgil turned around, struggling to doodle a raven on the corner of his letter. He scribbled for a moment, only giving pause when he heard a gentle, deep voice whisper, “Virgil?”

                Clicking his pen a few times, Virgil twisted where he sat, glancing back at Roman with a neutral expression. Their eyes met. Roman looked… well, he looked alarmed. Not hot. Not cold. Just… surprised. Virgil raised his eyebrows and gave him a lazy wave and muttered, “Hey.”

                There were a few beats of silence. Roman stared. Virgil thinned his lips into a straight line. Nyx hopped along the thin, metal bars that served as perches for the birds. She was the only happy creature in the situation. Which was nice, considering how prickly Virgil would feel otherwise.

                After a second, Roman’s expression went from happy to horribly offended. “What the _hell_ is your _problem_?”

                Virgil blinked spastically, his hand lowering back to the paper as his mood immediately dampened. “Excuse me?”

                Roman immediately stalked toward the stairs, waving his arms angrily as he announced, “I’ve been writing you for years! _Years!_ And you never wrote me back?” Virgil blinked in disbelief. What the fuck was this? Roman threw his hands in the air. “You just… _ignored_ me. For years. And all you have to say is ‘hey?’”

                Virgil ran the tip of his tongue along the front of his teeth. This was unexpected. He thought there would be cold shoulders. Silence and dark glances. This was… very different from what he expected. Roman continued to rave as he stomped around the owlery. Several owls because to squawk and shriek unhappily. Roman was startling them. It was getting difficult to understand him. Even so, he went on. Burning through years of apparent frustration. Virgil could only sit and watch.

                “I wrote to you about… _everything_. I asked questions. _Important_ questions. And you never answered. Never! What kind of person _does_ that?” He marched up to Virgil, looking a little bit like he was going to start a physical argument.

                Startled, Virgil stood up. He took a step down. He felt fight-or-flight kick in. Roman… stopped. He froze. Virgil watched him with wide eyes, absurdly anxious as Roman gave him a long, thoughtful onceover.

                “You… you’re tall,” Roman said, almost breathless. “Tall and… wow.” That last word came out as a laugh, disbelieving and warm. Virgil swallowed thickly. Weird… and weirder. What the hell did that mean? Virgil swung his arms at his sides uselessly, his letter to Emile crinkled and folded in one of his tense, fisted hands. Roman took a breath, shaking his head and trying to restart his argument. “No… nope. That doesn’t change the fact that you –”

                “That _I_ made the letters stop?” Virgil asked, more incredulous than Roman was angry. “ _You_ wrote to me three years ago, _telling_ me to stop writing!”

                Roman jolted where he stood, almost like he was shocked by an electric current. “I… no, I didn’t.”

                “Uh, yeah you did,” Virgil said as he stepped up onto the top platform of the owlery. Roman stumbled back. He was… shorter than Virgil remembered. That would be expected. Surely, they’d gone through growth spurts. But the last time he’d spoken to Roman, he was shorter than Roman. Now… they were the same height. He might even have a few inches on Roman.  That gave him a little power as he folded his letter to Emile and stuffed it into an envelope. “You wrote me. Three years ago. And told me to stop writing. You said you wouldn’t ask twice.”

                “I… I never…” Roman trailed off awkwardly, watching as Virgil scribbled Emile’s name on the envelope and handed it to Nyx. When Virgil sent her away, he turned back to see Roman with his hands in his hair, looking down at the cement with narrowed, angry eyes. Virgil let him think. The birds of the owlery were quiet and fluttering their wings. When Roman spoke, it was hardly louder than the flapping of those wings. “I didn’t write that.”

                Virgil raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Then who…” Roman lifted his eyes, meeting Virgil with a gaze that _burned_. It all clicked into place. Roman’s missing letters. The brief request. Their mutual misunderstanding. Virgil shook his head and muttered, “Your dad.”

                “Surprise! He’s still the villain!” Roman announced sarcastically. He dropped his arms to his sides, stomping around the owlery a few times. Virgil watched him go, admiring the way his biceps flexed under the Ilvermorny school cardigan sleeves. Roman had turned into a _fine_ young man. And Virgil was… well, underwhelming in comparison. At the very least. He kept that opinion to himself as Roman stopped in front of him. “I thought…” Those blue eyes searched his. What were they looking for? Virgil couldn’t say. Roman laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I thought you just hated me.”

                Virgil blinked. “N-no, I didn’t, I just…” Well, was that true? He’d hated Roman for years. But only because of that damning letter. The letter that, only just recently, Virgil assumed Roman wrote. “The letter said to stop. So I stopped.”

                “And… and you never got mine?” Roman asked, stepping forward and crowding Virgil’s space. Virgil backed up, hitting the wall faster than he thought he would. “None of them? I’ve been writing… at least four a year.” He turned away, clicking his tongue. “I bet my father just _took_ them… bastard.”

                “Why?” Virgil asked before he could stop himself. “Why would you even keep writing to me? Why do you care?”

                Roman looked at him. There was hurt in his eyes, but it didn’t’ follow-through. Virgil was too skeptical to believe it.

                “Because you were interesting, Virgil,” he laughed, as if it were obvious. “I wanted to be your friend.”

                “My friend?” Virgil asked, shaking his head. That was rich. Friends? After what his father had been doing? After what he’d _done_? “You made my life hell back then… and you wanted to be my friend?” Virgil looked off to the side, not daring to catch a glimpse of Roman’s soft, sad eyes. “Fuck off… _no one_ wanted to be my friend.”

                Roman was quiet, and when Virgil looked at him, he saw nothing but pained disbelief. Slipping past him, Virgil headed for the stairs, shoving last few papers he had into the pockets of his cloak. He didn’t want to believe in false-hope. It wasn’t good for his brain... or his heart. So he trudged down the steps, making it down twelve cold, concrete steps before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Virgil rolled his eyes.

                “Go away, Roman,” he growled as he turned to push the hand away. But Roman wasn’t there. No one was. Virgil looked up, seeing Roman hardly down the first step, staring at him in confusion. The hand was still solid on his shoulder. Virgil’s stomach twisted. Years of fear and PTSD washed over him. For one split second, he almost thought to scream.

                He wasn’t given the chance.

                The front of his cloak was gathered by those unseen hands, and he was thrown back. His arms pinwheeled wildly, and he flailed in hope of catching something, _anything_ , that would stop him from rolling down twelve flights of stone steps.

                “ _Arresto_!” Roman’s voice cracked, losing it’s dark, rich undertone for just a second.

                Virgil braced himself for whatever would await him. Impact. The sting of a curse. Maybe even the familiar burn of misplaced magical energy. But it didn’t come. He opened his eyes, and he was staring at the ceiling of the stairwell. Turning his head, he saw that he was suspended just a breath away from the stairs… a few more inches, and his skull would’ve cracked open like an egg.

                There was the scuffle of shoes on pavement, and suddenly Roman was standing over him, breathless and wide-eyed. “I can’t believe that worked,” he whispered, only half to Virgil.

                “Me neither,” Virgil muttered as he reached up a hand for assistance. “Just… don’t drop me before I can stand up.”

                “I’ll try not to.” Roman laughed – one of those, cartoonish, Princely chuckles that made Virgil’s stomach tingle – and took his hand, helping him back up onto his feet. “Are you okay?”

                “I… I think so,” Virgil muttered, brushing off the front of his cloak. What would he say to his parents? What would Patton do when he heard? They’d _just_ gotten back. They had _just_ started to hope. He grit his teeth and hissed, “Dammit. Did you see what it was?”

                Roman blinked a few times. “See what… _what_ was?”

                 “The thing that pushed me!” Virgil said, spreading his arms wide. Roman bit his bottom lip, and Virgil sighed, sitting down on the step. “God, this is just like before… I can’t do this. I can’t _do_ this.”

                “H-hey, it’s… it’s going to be alright,” Roman said gently as he sat down. “Things have changed since you left. And sure… we can’t _see_ what’s coming after you, but there are ways to detect malevolent magic.” Virgil perked up at that. Malevolent magic? Maybe that was it. Roman caught his hopeful gaze and gave Virgil a pat on the back. “Now that things are cleared up between us… I can help. Maybe.” He made a face. “I mean, hopefully. If you’ll have me.”

                Virgil snorted. “Are you offering to help me, or proposing marriage?”

                “Depends,” Roman pursed his lips and pretended to think. “Would you say yes?”

                “I’m kinda distracted by the fact that I almost smashed my head on, like, a billion stairs, Princey,” Virgil grumbled as he buried his face in his hands. “Can you stop being obnoxious for like… two minutes?”

                There was a pause, and then Roman laughed, just a little. “No one else has _ever_ called me that.”

                Virgil lifted his face to give Roman a look. “Obnoxious?”

                “No,” Roman punched his arm playfully. “Princey. No one else calls me that. Just you.”

                “Well, aren’t I just a special snowflake,” Virgil sighed as he dropped his face into his hands again. “God… what the _fuck_ am I supposed to do now? My dads need their jobs… I need my classes to graduate… and now I have a crazy curse on my back again.”

                Taking a few, deep breaths, Virgil tried to calm himself down while Roman settled on the stair next to him. A strong, broad hand pressed against his back… but this was different from the invisible hands. This was Roman. Warm and real, he gave Virgil an awkward pat.

                After a minute, Roman sighed, “I’m not sure what to do.”

                “That makes two of us,” Virgil sighed as he lifted his head and let out a long, tired exhale. He turned to Roman, expecting to be met with a look of low, unfiltered pity. Instead, he was met with curious scrutiny. Virgil made a face and leaned away from that heavy gaze. “What’s _that_ look for?”

                Roman smiled and Virgil nearly melted at the sight. “It’s just like old times,” he said with that damned smile.

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow gave the stairwell an odd look. They’d never met in the owlery before. What the hell was Roman talking about? “How is this like old times?”

                “Think about it,” Roman prompted, listing the details like an old, familiar bedtime story. “A crazy, unseen magic pushes you… you fall… I catch you… crazy things happen. Just like old times. But! The key difference is… we can change how it ends.” He snapped his fingers and smiled. “We can make it a happy ending this time.”

                “That’s just the thing, Princey,” Virgil sighed and gazed down the long, twisting staircase. “I don’t think this is going to be like last time.” He gripped the sides of his cloak and looked out the thin slits in the stone that served as windows for the tower. The sky was gray. Clouds moved fast across the expanse of that silver-scape. Virgil shivered. “I think this is going to be a _thousand_ times worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Ilvermorny.  
> Are you ready?
> 
> Thank you for readying.  
> See you next chapter.


	11. Beneath the Bone

                Virgil descended the stairs of the owlery slowly. He didn’t want to fall – on accident, or by a curse – so he went slow, holding a hand to the cold, stone walls of the stairwell. Roman followed close behind, uncharacteristically quiet as they made their way back to solid ground.

                When Roman spoke, it was a low, concerned mumble. “What do we do now?”

                Virgil stopped short, turning back to give Roman a disbelieving look. “ _We?_ What do you mean ‘we?’ There is no ‘we’ in this, it’s just me. My curse, my problem.”

                Roman paused, looking like he ate a very sour lemon. “I’m confused.”

                Rolling his eyes, Virgil spoke slowly, melodramatically emphasizing each word. “ _We,”_ he gestured between the two of them. “Are _not_ ,” he made an X with his arms. “Going to do _anything_ about this.”

                Another sour face, and Roman took a step back, going up one step so he could look down at Virgil in vague confusion. “We’re just… going to ignore the fact that you could’ve… died.”

                Virgil snapped his fingers and nodded. “Yup.”

                “Okay,” Roman nodded slowly. “I’m _very_ confused.”

                “Look, I’ve got my reasons, Princey. Nobody needs to know about this,” Virgil said, turning away and rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “So… just drop it.”

                Roman made a face, and Virgil hated it. It was perfect. The most cartoonish, obnoxious, disapproving look he’d ever seen. And with Patton as his father, that was saying something. Roman crossed his arms over his chest – did he lift weights? It looked like he could knock someone’s light out without question– and leaned his weight onto his right foot.

                “And you seriously think that’s a good idea?” He asked, a hint of condescension in his voice. “You could’ve cracked your head open on these steps, Virgil. If I hadn’t been here –”

                “Yeah, I know,” Virgil waved that off, starting down the stairs again. “I’d be dead. Yada, yada… I get it.” Roman was quick on his heels, not giving Virgil a moments rest.

                “You’re just ignoring what just happened?” He reached out, grasping Virgil’s shoulder and attempting to stop him. Virgil shrugged it off. Roman huffed. “You need to tell someone.”

                Virgil sighed. “No.”

                “Not even your parents?”

                Finally stopping, Virgil turned to glare at Roman. It was almost funny… he was two steps lower than Roman, but they were eye-to-eye now. Roman was shorter than he thought. He put that thought aside as he narrowed his eyes. “ _Especially_ not them.”

                Roman rolled his eyes. “Virgil…”

                “No! You don’t get it. You don’t.” Virgil started down the stairs again, feeling Roman right behind him as he started going faster than before. “Just because the whole… letter thing… is cleared up, it doesn’t magically make us _besties_. This goes further than just… crazy invisible attacks…”

                “Then _tell_ me,” Roman plead as they reached the ground floor. Virgil shouldered his way out of the double doors and out onto the campus sidewalks, ducking his chin into the collar of his cloak as he fought to get away from Roman. Roman – on his short, perfect little legs – cut him off and gave him a sharp look. “You can’t just say I don’t understand and then _not_ explain. Then I’ll never get it.”

                “For a guy that used to bully me, you are real fucking persistent,” Virgil muttered as he attempted to step around him.

                “But I’d never seen it before,” said Roman as he caught Virgil’s arm and held tight. “All this time… I thought you were being… I don’t know… bullied by someone else? Pranked? This is worse. This is _way_ worse.” When Virgil showed no signs of running again, Roman released him. The stood tensely, staring at each other and waiting for the other to back down. Neither did. Roman finally sighed, “I don’t get why you won’t just… tell someone. This is _bad_ , Virgil. It didn’t happen to anyone else while you were gone. And now it’s back.”

                Virgil sighed heavily, shaking his head at Roman’s downtrodden face. “You wanna know my deep, dark secrets? Fine. I spent five years in the middle of nowhere, wondering if I’d _ever_ be able to go back to school like a normal kid.” Roman looked away, almost ashamed, but Virgil didn’t stop. “My dads burned through their savings trying to keep us afloat while they waited for my aunt’s murder to be solved. It never was. When Logan went back to work, he was _always_ exhausted. But he kept going to keep us safe. And now we’re back,” he gestured to the school with a flippant wave of his hand. “We’re back in this fuckin’… deathtrap of a school! I can’t tell them we came here for nothing. I can’t do that.” He paused, catching Roman’s piercing gaze. “I won’t do that to them.”

                “Alright, alright…” Roman raised his hands in surrender and took a step back. “I get it.”

                “Awesome. So, keep your mouth shut,” Virgil ordered as he turned his back on Roman, trudging back toward the Puckwudgie dorm.

                There were a few seconds where Virgil thought he’d get away scot-free. Unfortunately, Roman called after him with gusto. “Does this mean we’re going to pretend the conversation in the owlery never happened? Or is that still fair game?”

                Biting the side of his cheek, Virgil smothered down a smile as he turned back to give Roman a shrug. “What do you think?”

                Even from twenty feet away, he could see the grin that spread across Roman’s face. “I think I need to keep vying for your attention.”

                “Ha!” Virgil shook his head and turned away. Roman was messing with him. He had to be. Still… it made his chest glow a bit as he walked away. “Keep trying, Princey. We’ll see what happens.”

+++++

                Virgil leaned back against the cool, steady stone walls of Ilvermorny. Her halls were filled with students, the air around her was warm with promise… and yet, even the school herself seemed anxious. Uneasy. Disquieted. He watched the masses of younger students pass him with a twinge of nostalgia in the back of his mind. He’d been that small once… he ‘d been hopeful like that, too. Unsure and excited... and so completely unprepared for what was waiting for him.

                His eyes narrowed at the oncoming first and second-year students. They were all so bright and new. They didn’t know his story or reputation. If he was still twelve, he could’ve made friends with them. Alas, he was eighteen years-old and six feet tall… a veritable giant compared to the children that giggled their way down the halls. Virgil watched them go with a chip on his shoulder, adjusting his bag before he shuffled off to his own classroom.

                For five years, his classes had been in the comfort of the living room or the safety of his front yard. For five years, his only teachers had been his fathers. For five years, Virgil had only gone to school with Nyx on his shoulder… with no one else. Now, Nyx was en route to Uncle Emile’s house. Patton was in his class halfway across school, and Logan was starting his first class down the far hall… he didn’t have classes with either of them until later in the day. He was certifiably alone… and far more anxious than he had been in years.

                Slipping into his first class – History of Magic with Standbern – he settled into the back row of desks. People mingled. Long-separated friends hugged. Sappy couples held hands and whispered in low, affectionate voices in the corner of the room. Virgil watched passively, flicking his hair from his eyes as he opened his notebook.

                No one looked in his direction, which was nice. They were all wrapped up in themselves. Virgil preferred that to the alternative. Just as he was tucking himself into a small doodle of a raven in the corner of his paper, Roman Prince rushed into the room with far more pomp and circumstance than he’d _ever_ shown before.

                “Welcome back to class, my fellow wizards!” He announced loudly with a flourish of his wand and a flick of his Thunderbird scarf.

                From the tip of that red-colored wood, sparks of fireworks burst into the air, spiraling in large, grandiose displays of flashy magic. Virgil watched, his lips parted around an inaudible profanity as Roman positively  _glowed_ in the spotlight. Watching him from beneath his bangs, Virgil quirked an eyebrow as Roman took a dramatic bow. Several people cheered and applauded Roman’s enthusiasm, whilst the rest of the class shook their heads affectionately.

                Tapping his finger against the page of his notebook tiredly, Virgil watched the way Roman preened and bloomed in the praise of others. Due to the reactions he’d seen, Virgil could only guess that this was somehow _normal_ for Roman. Virgil bit his lower lip and turned back to his notebook. He’d missed a lot when he was gone. He’d missed a lot when those letters had been intercepted… the questions unasked, the stories unread… it was all amassed and washed away when it really mattered.

                And now, Virgil was left shaken and unsteady in the aftermath.

                How was he supposed to act now? Roman had changed. They _both_ had. Roman wanted to make that old, shaky version of their former friendship work again… but could it? They were so drastically different, now. Roman was so flamboyant and confident. Virgil was… in a word, he was _scared_. Of school. Of the curse. Of how different he was now. Of… Roman Prince.

                Virgil scribbled angrily in his notebook, just blind, jagged lines as he tried to sort through his own thoughts. He wasn’t _afraid_ of Roman. But there as anxiety when he came to mind. A… not a dizzy feeling. But a feeling that left him feeling a little whiplash. A light-hearted buzzing in his chest, little a giggle that he’d been holding back for far too long. Virgil dropped his pencil and buried his face into his crossed arms on the desk; he had a _crush_ on Roman Prince. Stupid, frustrating, and _loud_ Roman Prince.

                That was fine, Virgil tried to soothe himself as he took deep, calming breaths. What had Uncle Emile told him? Breathe deeply when you’re upset or scared? Easier said than done, it seemed. Even so, Virgil breathed and tried to comfort himself. A crush wasn’t so bad. Crushes could just go away. He hardly knew Roman. For all he knew, Roman could’ve developed a terrible personality. This was just a momentary, aesthetic grab of attention. It wouldn’t last.

                It couldn’t last.

                “I’m no expert,” Roman said, his voice much closer than it should have been. “But I think it’s bad form to sleep in class on the first day.” Virgil sat up with a jerk, giving Roman a dark glare. Roman stood next to his desk with a small, amused smile and raised eyebrows. He let out a long, impressive whistle. “You look… very…” he gestured loosely to Virgil, as if this would finish his sentence.

                Virgil frowned and turned his face down to his notebook again, furiously avoiding the curious gazes of their fellow classmates as he muttered a gruff, “Thanks.”

                Roman beamed. “You’re _welcome_ ,” he said as he leaned his palm against the desktop and twirled his wand in his right hand casually. More sparks fluttered to the ground, sprinkling around Roman’s new, polished shoes. “I tried to catch you before you left the dorms, but you are _surprisingly_ hard to find for such a tall guy.”

                Virgil pursed his lips and kept his eyes trained on his paper, calmly erasing the dark, jagged marks on his paper as he muttered, “Yeah, well… I don’t like to stick out much. Unlike _some_ people.”

                Chuckling a little, Roman took that last jab as a compliment. He slid his hand on the desk a little closer to Virgil, shuffling his foot ever-so-subtle in his drive for attention. Virgil didn’t look up. Roman didn’t mind that, and instead craned his neck to catch a peek at Virgil’s notebook. “Taking something out on the notebook, Tall Dark and Brooding?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil muttered as he glanced down at Roman’s hand. “I’m filled with inconsolable rage.”

                Finally, Roman leaned back a little. “Should I be nervous?”

                “Depends,” Virgil looked up to catch Roman’s flustered gaze, fighting to look past the soft, sky-blue wash of his irises to see the emotion glittering there. Interest? Confusion? It all bled together. Virgil quirked an eyebrow and kept a straight face as he asked, “How many of my buttons are you going to push?”

                “B-buttons?” Roman repeated, sounding a little more rattled as he smiled shakily. He looked Virgil up and down. “You aren’t wearing any buttons aside the one on your… is that a, uh… a No-Maj saying?”

                “Well, yeah, I guess,” Virgil said with a shake of his head. This conversation was getting weird. Why was Roman so flushed? All of Roman’s previous confidence had simply vanished. Had Virgil said something weird? Were people looking at them? He tapped his pencil against his paper and studiously avoided Roman’s gaze. “Maybe you’ll learn about it in No-Maj Studies.”

                There was a notable pause, and Virgil almost assumed Roman was going to burst into flame… but he never did. He simply leaned his weight into his left hand on the table, looming over Virgil with a sly smile. “I’d love to undo some of your buttons, Virgil… but I’d like to get to know you a little better first.”

                Virgil blinked. Undo buttons? He wasn’t wearing anything with buttons. His school robes were held together with clasps. What was he – Virgil’s chest tightened and his face burned. The only button he had on him… was on his _pants_. Swallowing thickly, Virgil scrubbed his eraser over his page hard enough for the paper to tear. Roman hummed affirmatively and leaned back, twirling his wand in his hand like he’d won some sort of battle between the two of them.

                How was he supposed to respond to _that_? Did that count as sexual harassment if it was a misunderstanding? Virgil’s brain stuttered and stopped. Roman took it as some sort of advance… and didn’t brush him off. This was _not_ the childish friendship he remembered five years ago. This was different… and adult… and intense. And completely _new territory_ for Virgil.

                “That’s not…” Virgil picked and chose his words carefully, not daring to glance up at roman’s expression. Who knew what face he was making? Times like this really made Virgil envy his father’s legilimency. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Virgil tore out his ripped paper and crumpled it into a ball. “That’s not what that saying means, Princey.”

                “Oh? Then what –” Roman’s question was cut short when Professor Standbern walked into the room, their light and bouncy robes fluttering around at their ankles as they greeted familiar students. Roman was on their heels in seconds, eagerly asking, “Professor! Do you know much about No-Maj euphemisms?”

                Professor Standbern gave Roman a half-interested glance as they set their books on their desk and pushed up their sleeves. From the back of the classroom, Virgil could see their wise, wrinkled eyes and sun-tired skin. They smiled, and it showed. Virgil sat back with a breath of relief. He immediately felt a little safer with Standbern at the head of the room.

                “That sounds like a question for a No-Maj Studies teacher, Mr. Prince,” Standbern said with a scolding smile. “Now, shoo. Back to your seat.” When Roman and the other students had shuffled into their seats, Standbern waved their wand at the door, gently pushing it shut as their name was written on the chalkboard with a single, wavering piece of chalk. “Welcome back to Ilvermorny, children. I hope you had a productive summer?” There were a few, amused murmurs around the classroom, and Standbern nodded affectionately. “Well, I’m happy to see your tanned faces in class once more.”

                Virgil snorted at that without thinking. A few people glanced back at him, giving him a strange look, and Virgil simply ducked his head. He wasn’t tan… he was pale. Extremely pale. He was closed up in the house a lot… he didn’t like going out. Even before they came back to school, Patton and Logan didn’t like him going out for walks on his own. It was dangerous. _Everything_ was dangerous. But… his parents didn’t know that. They didn’t _need_ to know that. Not yet.

                Standbern didn’t seem to hear Virgil, and they simply went about their usual first-day greetings. “I am Professor Standbern, for all you new faces. You can address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘Mx. Standbern,’ at your convenience. Now, last year we went over the Wizarding War of Britain…”

                Virgil tensed; Logan hadn’t taught him that, yet. He hadn’t even gotten close to that part of the textbook. Something about Harry Potter, right? Back in the nineties? He couldn’t remember the specifics. So he grit his teeth and feebly tried to copy notes as Standbern went through their lecture. They noted things that Logan hadn’t told him. They referenced spells that Patton never taught him. The rest of the class seemed bored… as if this lesson was nothing more than a bland replay of what they’d heard so many times, years ago. Virgil, however, was _lost_.

                It wasn’t just History of Magic. It was all through the day. In Potions, there were ingredients that Virgil had never been allowed to touch pushed in his direction. In Transfiguration, he was asked to execute a spell that he’d never attempted before. And all the while, he was tense. Waiting for the curse to catch up with him. Waiting for the next attack. Readying himself for the last mark of time until Patton and Logan realized that they weren’t safe.

                So, he sat in class with Patton, hands scratching at the paper of his notebook as he tried to think of something… _anything_ … than what happened at the owlery. Maybe a joke. Maybe his other lessons. If he focused on his confusion, Patton wouldn’t suspect. If he thought of just the right thing, Patton would gloss over him. If he remembered the words that Roman said… euphemisms. Virgil frowned. He couldn’t think of dirty jokes while in class with _Patton_. That could only end badly.

                Silence. Virgil looked up from his paper. Patton was standing at the head of the room, his hands hovering in midair, stopped mid-motion as he stared at his students in wide-eyed surprise. Virgil felt his cheeks flush; Patton had heard his thoughts. He knew that… no. Patton wasn’t looking at him. Patton was looking to the other side of the classroom. Virgil’s stomach lurched; Patton was looking at Roman Prince with that abashed, unamused expression of shock.

                "See me after class, Mr. Prince,” Patton said swiftly. The class murmured in confusion. Roman hadn’t done anything to disrupt the lesson. He’d been silent for the entire hour. Patton was being unreasonable, as much as Virgil hated to admit it. But… maybe Roman had been thinking something bad. Maybe something dirty. Virgil smirked at that thought, but the expression dropped as Patton turned that steely gaze on him. “And you, too, Virgil.”

                While Patton swept back into the lesson as if nothing had happened, Virgil spent the rest of the lecture trying to catch Roman’s eye and give him a soul-dampening glare. Roman didn’t even glance in Virgil’s direction. The people seated next to him whispered to him, trying to get to the reason Mr. Sanders had called him out in the middle of the lesson. To his credit, Roman didn’t seem to understand either. Which wasn’t much of a surprise, considering he didn’t know about Patton’s legilimency.

                So, with neither of them understanding the reason, they waited out the rest of the lesson. When the bell chimed, both of them slid out of their seats. Roman caught Virgil’s eye, and for a moment, something anxious flickered in those normally confident blue eyes. Virgil chose to clench his jaw and look away as he met Roman in the middle of the classroom, walking to the front of the room with him as an awkward, disjointed duo as the rest of the class slowly filtered out into the hallway.

                Many students tried to linger and eavesdrop, but Patton waved them all away with his trademark smile. Virgil knew better. It was a fake smile, all tight at the edges and not reaching his worried eyes. Seconds dripped past as Patton straightened his desk and wiped down his chalkboard. Virgil’s hands clenched and unclenched. Was he in trouble? Or was he just an awkward bystander to Roman’s crime? What _was_ the issue, anyway?

                As if to answer the question, Patton took up a stack of papers on his desk, rolled them up, and _slapped_ Roman and Virgil upside the head with it.

                Virgil sputtered and held a hand to the back of his head. “What the f –”

                “How _dare_ you not say anything to us!” Patton shouted as he glared up at Virgil, waving his ridiculous roll of papers in the air. “If the attacks were occurring again, you should have _said_ something! This is important! This is your life! You are my _son!_ ” He pointed the papers at Roman, who leaned back and blinked spastically at the accusatory look in Patton’s eyes. “And _you_ … you should have come to us the _moment_ you saw the attack. I can’t believe… the two of you with your… little…” Patton wiggled his fingers flippantly, “Teenager secrets!”

                Roman opened his mouth, then closed it… and then opened it again, struggling to find the right words as Patton started to pace in circles around his desk. “I’m… confused. How do you know…?”

                “Son of a…” Virgil groaned and shook his head before giving Roman’s shoulder a harsh shove. “You were thinking about the curse _in class_? I told you to keep your mouth shut!”

                Roman took a step back and made a face. “I _did_ keep my mouth shut. I didn’t tell anyone!”

                “Yeah, but you were thinking about it! That’s fair game, you idiot!” Virgil pointed at Roman’s forehead, as if it were obvious. “He can hear what you’re thinking, dumbass.”

                “Wha… what?” Roman whispered, looking to Patton with wide, awed eyes. “Like… like legilimency?”

                “Of course it’s legilimency,” Virgil grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at the floor. “Now everything is fucked up and –”

                “Enough!” Patton snapped, throwing his bundle of papers onto the desk. He straightened his glasses for a moment, fidgeting restlessly as he tried to make a plan of action. Virgil glanced at him through the fan of his bangs. Was he debating whether or not to go back home? Was he scared? Did he know the full extent of what occurred in the stairwell? Patton raised his tired, hazel eyes and met Virgil with an apologetic stare. “Sweetheart, if… if these attacks are happening again, maybe we should –”

                “Go home?” Virgil finished with a huff. “That would hold me back in school for a year and push off my graduation. And even if I work for Uncle Emile in the summer, I can’t help _that_ much with the bills.”

                “I’m not saying you have to, kiddo,” Patton said gently. He stepped close to Virgil and placed a hand on his cheek. He had to look up to Virgil, now… not so many years ago, Patton had been taller than him. Now, Virgil towered over him. The tables had turned, and yet... with Patton, Virgil always felt safe. Patton smiled at that. “I’m saying that… for your safety, we might consider a different alternative.”

                “You’d leave?” Roman asked, almost sounding heartbroken. Virgil looked to him, seeing that familiar, sad glint in his eyes. “Again? You… you just got back.”

                Patton sighed and wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself tight as he fought to think of a better solution. While they stood, quiet and unsure, the door to the class creaked open. Patton blinked and looked to the visitor in alarm. Virgil made a face at his reaction. Why was he so scared? It was just Logan.

                “Logan,” Patton said softly, though it was pitched more towards a question than a statement. Logan stood in the doorway, unmoving and emotionless as he stared into the classroom.

                “Mr. Sanders,” Roman started shakily. “Please, whatever is coming after Virgil, I’d like to help. I know you may not… have the highest opinion of me, but… but I’d like to help in whatever way I can.”

                When Roman took a step toward the door, Patton reached out and stopped him. Holding him back. Virgil tensed; something was wrong. Patton stepped forward, placing himself between Roman and Logan, as if Logan were a dangerous animal.

                “Honey?” Patton said, trying to catch Logan’s foggy, unseeing stare. “Logan? Say something, sweetie.” Patton took slow, careful steps toward him, stopping a few feet away. “At least… _think_ of something. You… I’ve never heard your head so quiet. I can’t…” Virgil glanced down, seeing the way his father’s hands shook in plain, blatant fear. “I can’t hear what you’re thinking. I can’t…”

                Logan moved. Virgil felt his entire body jolt in fear. He reached out for Roman instinctively, pulling him back and away from the door as Logan lurched forward, his arms extended with full intention on grabbing _someone_. Patton screamed in alarm, jumping back and pulling out his wand in self-defense. Virgil gripped Roman’s arms tight, feeling the way Roman tensed in his hold. He’d never seen Patton afraid of Logan. He’d rarely seen Patton truly afraid at all.

                “Libretanus!” Patton screeched, practically tripping over himself in an attempt to somehow save himself while protecting Virgil and Roman. There were no flashes or bursts of magic. No lights or colors. Just Patton’s quivering voice and waving arms.

                It ended too quickly. Logan’s eyes, so glossy and unfocused, rolled back into his skull. Virgil’s skin crawled at the sight as his father – one of the men he trusted with his life – tipped forward and fell to the floor. Everyone was quiet. Patton still had his wand at the ready, shaking visibly as he held a protective arm out in front of Roman and Virgil. Logan didn’t move from his heap on the floor.

                Roman leaned back against Virgil’s chest, muttering a low, unsteady, “What the _hell_ just happened?”

                “I don’t know,” Virgil muttered. Patton was still quivering, obviously conflicted on what to do next. Virgil’s heart was pounding. He’d never seen anything like this before. Was it the curse? Why was it targeting Logan and not himself? Virgil swallowed thickly and numbly repeated, “I don’t know.”

                After a few, tense seconds, Patton slowly lowered his wand. “He’s… he’s unconscious,” he muttered, almost like an afterthought. He glanced at his wand. “I can’t believe that worked.”

                When Roman squirmed uncomfortably, Virgil released him with a quiet apology. He watched Patton slowly tuck his wand away again, hands still unsteady as he watched Logan’s unmoving body. Virgil didn’t dare to approach as Patton shuffled around Logan carefully.

                “What happened?” Virgil asked carefully, his hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his school robes.

                “A hex?” Roman suggested softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Or… maybe the curse?”

                “Curse?” Patton echoed owlishly. “Is that what you boys are calling the attacks, now?”

                Virgil shrugged uneasily. “I guess. I don’t really know what else to call it.”

                Opening his mouth to no doubt reply, Patton paused halfway into a word, stopping to looked down at Logan’s still frame. “Lo… Logan,” Patton breathed, dropping to his knees next to him. He turned Logan onto his back and cupped his slack face. “Logan! Oh, honey… sweetheart, wake up. Oh, please wake up….”

                Virgil hesitated, watching the way Patton pat the side of Logan’s cheek until his eyes fluttered open. He stared up at Patton, dazed and confused before he slowly, shakily sat up. He straightened his glasses. He reached up, holding a hand to his head before giving the room a strange look.

                “I’m… where am I?”

                Patton flinched at the questioning, innocent lilt in Logan’s voice. “My… my classroom. You’re in the Charms room.” He brushed Logan’s hair from his eyes, smoothing back the dark, chestnut hair above his brow. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his face, as though coming back to himself had taken more effort than he let on. Patton cupped Logan’s face for a moment, scanning his face for something Virgil couldn’t see. When he didn’t find anything, he wrapped his arms around Logan and pulled him close, letting out a longsuffering sigh. “You scared me, honey.”

                “I didn’t intend to,” Logan said lowly as he rubbed Patton’s back. “Though, I am _very_ confused.”

                Patton pressed his face into Logan’s shoulder. There was a quiet that settled over the room. Roman glanced back at Virgil, his eyes burning with questions and answers alike. Virgil didn’t dare receive either. He simply watched the way Patton clung to Logan.

                Virgil had been the main victim all those years ago… and even the other day, he’d been attacked. Now… was this foreshadowing? Did this mean it was Logan’s turn to play the victim? If so… how long was it going to be until it was Patton’s turn? How serious would these attacks be? How far would it all go?

                “Virgil,” said Patton in a low, serious tone. “I’m taking Logan to the nurse. I want you boys to go straight to class, you hear me?” Virgil met Patton’s hard stare head-on, not daring to break eye contact as Patton said, “You go _together_ …. _straight_ to class. No detours. I don’t…” he paused, took a shaky breath as Logan glanced between the odd gathering. Patton collected himself and continued. “I don’t like how this is going. I can’t be two places at once… you boys need to watch each other while I take Logan to the nurse.”

                Logan baulked at that. “Patton, I’m perfectly capable of –”

                “Your mind was _blank,_ Logan,” Patton interrupted crossly. “There was _nothing_ there. Silence. I’ve never... _you’ve_ never…” He didn’t finish as he pulled Logan to his feet and draped Logan’s arm over his shoulders. “Go to class, boys. Be careful.”

                As Patton and Logan slowly made their way down the hall, Virgil and Roman stood in the doorway of the classroom, watching. They didn’t speak for a while. They watched the way Logan staggered, clearly disoriented, and how Patton struggled to hold the taller man steady. Their robes where a wash of striking navy blue and a muted, warm gray… the contrast of their lives and personalities blending together so seamlessly… it was almost jarring. Virgil took a deep breath, trying to calm himself… but Roman’s next words set him on edge once more.

                “How can we be careful,” Roman murmured, “When we can’t even see it coming?”

+++++

                Virgil didn’t sleep that night. He stayed awake and relived the long hours of the day that slid past him slower than anticipated. Roman had been bombarded by his friends when they went to their next class, cutting a distinct line between Virgil and Roman for the remainder of the day. Patton and Logan didn’t make an appearance at the cafetorium for dinner, and when he’d tried to visit the teacher’s dormitory, he’d been shooed away by other faculty staff.

                Moonlight cut through the windows of his dormitory, marking cold, silvery lines on the stone floors and broken only by the slats of the window pane. Virgil sat on the edge of the window, watching the clouds roll together and blot out the stars one by one. It was lonely by himself… but he was accustomed to that kind of loneliness. He’d been on his own, trapped in a farm house and holding his breath for five years… and yet, something in his chest rose up, choking off every exhale and stifling each inhale.

                What? Had he hoped that Roman’s enthusiasm and flirting would make all of the bad things just… go away? Had he felt, just for a brief moment, that he could be a normal student at Ilvermorny? That was preposterous. He was Virgil Sanders. The cursed boy that nearly died time and again… the one that left school and faded into the backdrop of his classmate’s memories.

                He sighed and closed his eyes, resting the side of his head against the cold glass. His body was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep. His stomach churned, but he didn’t want to eat… he sat in the dark room with his eyes shut against the resting world.

                He had wanted things to be _better_. He wanted to make his fathers _proud_. All he did was rope Logan into the curse. Again, Virgil thoughts swam in dark circles around that fact. If the curse could affect more than just himself, who else was at stake? Patton? Roman? The entire student body? Virgil opened his eyes and stared out across the school grounds, looking far into the thick, mountain forests beyond them.

                He remembered his days before Patton and Logan. The days where he ‘started’ fires in the homes of hopeful adoptees. He narrowed his eyes. Had those fires been the result of his repressed, frightened magic? Or had the curse been with him all along?

                When something _tap, tap, tapped_ against the glass of the far window, Virgil nearly fell out of the window seat and onto the floor. He tensed, looking to the window with wide eyes as he saw a creature, dark and shrouded in the shadow of clouds, fluttering and tapping at the window. Virgil squinted; it was an owl. A barn owl.

                Shrugging off his startled reaction, Virgil shuffled across the dorm room and opened the window. “Hey, Valor,” he greeted Roman’s owl warmly. When Valor landed on the sill, he quirked his head to and fro, as if trying to remember Virgil. He smiled at that. “It’s been a while, huh?” Valor fluttered his wings, tapping his long talons on the sill. Virgil’s eye caught on the ribbon dangling from the owl’s leg. There was a small piece of paper tied there, attached to Valor’s leg with a thin piece of red chord. Gingerly reaching for the ribbon – owls tended to bite and scratch when people tried to take letters that weren’t theirs – Virgil maintained eye contact with the bird as he said, “Is this for me?”

                Valor blinked slowly, but made no move to nip at him. Virgil pulled at the string, untying a loose, hastily made bow and taking the scrap of paper from the owl. It was rolled up like a tiny scroll, and after a few seconds of struggling to find the end, Virgil unrolled it to find a single sentence waiting for him.

                _Come to the cafetorium for a drink.     –Roman_

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow; the cafetorium was locked at this time of night. And, due to new safety protocols, students weren’t allowed to wander the dorms after sunset. The hall had to be crawling with prefects dedicated to catching students breaking curfew… and yet, Roman, the most popular boy of the sacred school, was inviting him to break the rules.

                It was dangerous going out alone, Virgil knew. The curse was still strong and out for blood. Was there proof that Roman wrote this? It could have been a trap. Virgil glanced at the barn owl on his windowsill. For all he knew, it wasn’t _Roman’s_ owl… it was just one that looked like him.

                Pursing his lips, Virgil went to his notebook, tore a small piece of paper from his notes, and wrote a response.

                _How would I do that, genius? The cafetorium is locked. –Virgil_

                He handed the note to Valor – at least, he _hoped_ it was Valor – and sent him back to his owner. When Valor took flight, he caught the moonlight on his wings, brushing through that misty, silver glow that slipped through the gathered clouds and sinking back into darkness when he dipped low under the stone structures of Ilvermorny. He was gone. Virgil waited.

                After a few minutes passed, Virgil leaned back against the wall and slipped down until he was sitting on the floor. The air was quiet. No breeze broke the calm. Not even insects dared to sing. All Virgil had was the thud of his own heart… and the rush of air in his lungs. He almost stood up to get his MP3 player from his bag, just so he wasn’t sitting in maddening silence, but there was a flutter of wings just above him. He stood, and Valor was tapping his talons against the wood, obviously invigorated by a nighttime flight. Virgil glanced down and smiled. Another message.

                _Use that pretty head of yours. How do you think I got here? –Roman_

                A trap? Or a genuine invitation? His mind told him not to go. His mind said to stay in the safety of his dorm room, sitting in the middle of the floor and unmoving so there would be no possible way anything or anyone could hurt him. And yet… his heart told him to go. It screamed that he wanted to belong to something. A group. A clique. _Anything_ that would make him feel like less of an outsider.

                Tearing out another piece of paper, Virgil’s pencil hovered over the parchment. Should he stay? He could still be attacked in his dorm room. If he went to Roman, then he wouldn’t be alone. Roman might actually save his life again. Licking his lips, Virgil slowly wrote his reply.

                _I’ll be there in ten minutes. –Virgil_

                Surprisingly, Virgil crept down the Puckwudgie dorm stairs without alerting any other students. The doors locked from the inside, and he left a small, empty cauldron as a prop to keep the door from locking him out. With his hands in the pockets of his favorite black hoodie – his only eighteenth birthday present – Virgil tried to rush his way through the halls of Ilvermorny. If he could get to the cafetorium as quickly as possible, the less chance there was that the curse could grab ahold of him.

                At least, that was his thought process as he wound his way through the spiraling, dim halls of Ilvermorny. Small, flickering torches marked corners of halls that Virgil had memorized many years before, and somehow remembered after all this time.

                The doors of the cafetorium was propped open when he reached it, and as he drew nearer, Virgil could see that it was a single, polish shoe that kept the door from closing. Virgil smirked; those were Roman’s shoes. The ideas of this being a trap were starting to slink back into a dark corner of Virgil’s mind, and he shouldered his way into the cafetorium carefully.

                It was dark inside, the only light provided streaked through the skylights built into the structure. Even then, the moonlight was sallow, and the clouds were thick. Virgil could hardly see Roman’s silhouette sitting on one of the tables, an owl perched on his shoulder. Even in the dim light, Virgil could see the curl of his sandy brown hair and the stiff line of his shoulders. Virgil’s stomach twisted; even in melancholy repose, Roman was like an artful statue, carved from marble and placed on display for the world to admire. From the rough, worn yellow of his school cardigan to the striking blue of his denim pants… he was still perfect.

                Though Virgil dragged his feet, shuffling across the floor as he approached, Roman didn’t seem to notice him. He was busy staring up at the skylights, looking oddly serious as he watched the clouds swirl and part around shy, pale stars. In his hands, a cup of something warm and steaming was balanced precariously in his fingertips, one quick scare away from falling to the floor and shattering. It would’ve been funny to see, but… something in the hard set of Roman’s jaw said that doing so would ruin whatever trust was between them.

                So Virgil stayed quiet, holding himself on the brink of breathing and dreaming, casting a second wistful glance up at those sheltered stars. What had they stepped into? No… what had he _dragged_ Roman into? A curse. A secret dance with death that – formerly – no one else could confirm or deny. But now, Roman knew. He’d seen it in action. Worse yet, it had reached out to claim someone else as its new plaything… Logan. He’d been so strange… so unlike himself. Like a puppet, pulled by the strings of the curse, he’d lunged for Patton… what would they have done if Patton’s hex breaker hadn’t worked?

                What would _Logan_ have done?

                Quietly, like he was sharing a secret, Roman whispered, “I’m surprised you were awake.”

                Bringing his gaze down from the skylights, Virgil met Roman’s tired gaze. He was looking at Virgil over his shoulder, an odd serious of shadows cast over his face as Valor took flight into the rafters. It left Roman looking oddly small, like an afterimage of the person Virgil knew him to be.

                Taking a seat next to him on the tabletop, Virgil sighed heavily. “I hardly ever sleep in this damn place,” he grumbled. Roman gave him a curious look, and Virgil shrugged with a lopsided smile. “Ilvermorny is like a big haunted house to me… something is out to get me around every corner.”

                There was a notable pause where Roman chewed those words, turning his steaming cup around in his hands. “And now,” he finally muttered, “Your father.”

                Virgil squirmed at that. He still didn’t know if Logan was okay. He hadn’t seen Patton, either. Had it been a hex? Had Patton not been able to truly break it, but only keep it at bay? Was Logan nothing more than a ragdoll again? He didn’t know.

                Roman took the cup in his hands and held it out to Virgil. Virgil gave it a look, and Roman smiled. “Relax, Broodiful… it’s hot chocolate.”

                Muttering profanity under his breath, Virgil took the cup, wrapping his fingers around the warm ceramic and letting the heat soak into his skin before he took a sip. It burned his tongue. He didn’t mind.

                “It’s late,” Virgil muttered.

                Roman chuckled, low and humorless. “I suppose.”

                They sat a while like this, watching the stars dance between the clouds. Cold. Quiet. Almost peaceful, in a strange, numb way. Almost… _almost_ safe.

                “I couldn’t sleep,” Roman whispered after a few minutes.

                Virgil cast a sidelong glance at him, but Roman’s blue eyes were still gazing up at the stars. The lights reflected oddly in his irises, almost too faint to be real. Roman didn’t smile. He didn’t make a joke. He was oddly serious. Virgil could appreciate the scowl that twisted those perfectly refined, friendly features into something… something completely different. Lonely… and frightened.

                Roman’s hands clasped together in his lap, and he fidgeted restlessly as he said, “Did you ever get to see Mr. San – ah… your father?” He finally looked at Virgil, endless waves of untold emotion swimming in his expression. Virgil was nearly swept away in it, but Roman threw him a lifeline. “Did you get to ask him what happened?”

                Virgil set aside his half-empty cup. “No. They weren’t at dinner, and I tried to get to the teacher’s dorms, but I was turned away.” Something fluttered in the rafters, and both boys paused, tense and afraid they’d been caught. Valor swooped low across the cafetorium before finding a new perch, and the boys relaxed. Virgil was quiet when he admitted, “By the time I got to the infirmary, visiting hours were over.”

                For a moment, Roman simply stared at him in quiet, questioning wonder. His eyes darted back and forth between Virgil’s, struggling to pick one to stick with and stare into. Virgil didn’t mind the struggle; he was used to people ignoring him and looking _through_ him. This was different. Roman was searching for something, some sort of grappling point where he could hold on… a familiar glint, a memorable shine. Virgil didn’t have the heart to ask whether or not he actually found it when Roman looked away.

                “You know… my father used to say to me: Ilvermorny is a better place now that the Sanders family isn’t making a mess of it,” Roman smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was one of those tight, uncomfortable smiles. The kind someone made when they were holding back something unpleasant. Roman took a deep, shuddering breath and shook his head. "I… didn’t take him seriously," said Roman. There was an odd catch in his voice, as if he was biting back more. "I'm glad you're back, but... now these attacks are happening again. I didn't take my father seriously before, but..."

                Virgil paused, pulling at his hoodie sleeves awkwardly. “But… now you do?” 

                “Oh, Good Witch Morrigan, no.” Roman shook his head fervently, that sad, aching smile never leaving his face as he did. “After… _that_ day, I never really… took _anything_ he said seriously. I just... I think it's unfair that this has to happen to you.”

                That day. The howler. The way Patton cried. The way _roman_ cried. Virgil remembered it all very well. But, this conversation moved to confirm something that Virgil had suspected from the moment he met Roman in the owlery; Roman was… _lonelier_ than Virgil remembered. A little more two-faced when it came to his enthusiasm for life. A little more hollow. A little like a man holding the comedy mask over his tragedy expression… poetic drama coming together to hide what Roman really wanted to say.

                Virgil gave Roman a long, hard look before murmuring, “Why did you call me down here?”

                Roman turned to look at him. Through him. At him. With him. Roman smiled, but this time, it was just a sad parody of a lovesick teenager. It made Virgil’s stomach hurt. Roman shrugged. “Just… to be with you, I guess.”

                Virgil hesitated, but said it anyway: “You don’t know me.” Roman cocked his head to the side, curious. Giving him a hard look, Virgil repeated, “You don’t really _know_ me. I’m not the same kid I used to be five years ago. Hell, _you_ aren’t the same kid. I’m a totally different person. You’ve changed. _We_ have changed.”

                Roman’s smile turned more genuine as he said, “Maybe I want to figure out what changed. Where’s the harm in that?”

                Shifting where he sat, Virgil snorted derisively. “Why? So you can snuggle up to the crazy cursed guy and be his best friend?”

                “I… we aren’t already friends?” Roman blinked spastically, almost cartoonish in his surprise. “I thought we were.”

                Virgil made a face. “I don’t think mock-flirting counts as ‘friendship.’ Though, really, I’m no expert.” Without warning, Roman burst into a fit of loud, raucous laughter. Virgil watched with a slightly bemused expression as Roman rocked back where he sat, slapping his thigh melodramatically and repeating, “M-mock…! Mock-flirting! Ha!” between fits of giggling. Virgil reached for his mug, moving the hot chocolate to a safe distance from Roman’s wriggling. “Good to know I’m apparently hilarious.”

                “Oh, you’re not. You’re weirdly serious,” Roman managed to breath as he wiped tears from his eyes. “You… you said mock-flirting. Oh, sweet Morrigan, you are _clueless_.”

                Taking a slow sip of his hot chocolate – now long cold and slightly bitter in the end – Virgil muttered low, sarcastic, “Thanks.”

                While Roman hummed thoughtfully, they both turned their gazes up to the skylight again. The clouds had parted a bit, letting a few stars eavesdrop on their conversation. No hands reached out to push Virgil down. Nothing came flying at him. The light never faded. He felt warm… and safe.

                “If you wanted,” Virgil said carefully, “I guess we could be friends.”

                Roman didn’t turn away from the skylight, but from the corner of Virgil’s eye, he could see the real, calming smile that warmed his entire expression.

                “Yes,” Roman finally said, as if he had to give it considerable thought. “I think I’d like that.”

                Virgil took another sip of his hot chocolate, eyes trained on the stars. He’d learned constellations with Logan, long ago. Adromeda pulled at her chains through the clouds, stars littering her skin as Virgil counted the stars along her frame. Captured and fighting for freedom… much like Virgil. He drank the last of his hot chocolate and watched the clouds swallow Andromeda once more. He could feel Roman’s eyes burning into his skin, but he didn’t dare look away.

                “Yeah,” Virgil finally murmured, almost to himself. He turned to look at Roman, and was met with a soft smile. He didn’t both to smother his own, shy smile in return. “I think I’d like that, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy... where did Logan and Patton go?
> 
> See you next chapter!


	12. Two forward, Seven back

                Virgil remembered the halls that lead to the infirmary; his memory was stained with images of Naroona’s body, still and lifeless, laying on those gleaming, marble floors. It was ingrained in his mind. Each step. Each crack in the stone floor. And every breath he’d taken, those five years ago… it was still there, fresh in his mind as he walked, slow and discomforted, toward the infirmary’s double doors.

                Morning classes had passed without event, and Virgil was getting anxious. He hadn’t seen Logan or Patton all day. Perhaps he was too dependent on them… perhaps he wasn’t dependent _enough_. He could’ve tried to see them first thing in the morning, as soon as he woke up, but he didn’t. The nightmares had returned with a force, leaving him in a cold sweat by the time the sun rose.

                When he reached the doors of the infirmary – closed with no one lying on the ground before them – he slowly pushed open the doors. It was quiet. Not even the school nurse made her rounds of the cots. With school just beginning, she wasn’t very busy. She was probably in her office. That just made locating his parents even easier.

                Patton was sat next to the nearest cot, watching over Logan like a sad guardian angel. He looked tired and frustrated, but when Virgil approached, his looked up with a worn, grateful smile.

                “Hey, kiddo.” His voice was a hollow echo of who he was. Like a played-back recording of what he sounded like when he was genuinely excited. Patton blinked, and looked away. “Sorry, I’m just… it’s been a long night.”

                Virgil hummed thoughtfully, looking down at Logan. His eyes were shut. His breathing was slow. He looked… peaceful. More relaxed than he had in ages. Taking a seat opposite Patton, Virgil took both his and Logan’s hand, holding them tight as he murmured, “Is he okay? Do they know what happened?”

                Patton squeezed his hand supportively, but thinned his lips into a serious, worrisome line. “The nurse didn’t get to ask many questions… I got him here just fine, but,” Patton glanced over at Logan’s face, his eyes catching and holding on some unseen detail. “But he went right back to sleep as soon as he was off his feet.”

                “Can a hex make him do that? Just… pass out like that?” Virgil asked, his heart leaping up into his throat. Patton frowned and shook his head.

                “None that I know of… but, maybe it wasn’t a hex,” Patton used his empty hand to brush hair from Logan’s forehead, his thumb sweeping lovingly over Logan’s cheek. “Maybe… it was the Imperius curse?” He sighed and retracted his hand. “Logan would know… he’s so much smarter about these things.”

                Virgil stiffened. “Im-imperius… isn’t that one of the, uh… the unforgivable curses?” Patton hummed thoughtfully but didn’t answer. Leaning forward a bit, Virgil pressed the issue. “Wouldn’t the MACUSA know about someone casting a forbidden spell?”

                “Not if their wand isn’t registered with the government,” Patton muttered under his breath as he watched Logan’s eyelashes flutter as he dreamt. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Patton let out a long exhale. “I wish… I wish Logan were awake. He’d know all the signs,” Patton laughed a little, but the sound was high and caught in the ack of his throat, almost like he was trying not to cry. “But he… he won’t wake up. I’ve tried everything. Even the nurse is stumped.”

                Virgil’s head snapped up from where he’d been watching Logan’s blank expression to stare at his father in horror. “What? Is that part of the curse?”

                Patton shifted uncomfortably, looking a little like he’d just remembered what he’d said. Struggling to put a smile on his face, Patton glanced down at Logan’s sleeping face. “I’m… not really sure, kiddo. Maybe it is?” He sighed again. “Logan would know… Logan would… know what to do…” he looked lost in his own thoughts when he muttered to Logan’s closed eyes and slightly parted lips, “What would you do, Honey?”

                Glancing between his parents uneasily, Virgil narrowed his eyes. There was more to this than met the eye. Twists and turns within the curse that they already knew existed. A curse inside a curse? Dual-activation of a curse? Was something like that possible? He frowned and watched Logan carefully. Patton said that ‘Logan would know’ about these things. Why? Because he was knowledgeable? Because he craved information? Because he had eccentric interests?

                Lifting his eyes, Virgil caught Patton eyeing him anxiously. Leaning forward a bit, Virgil murmured, “Why would Logan know about this?”

                Slowly, Patton slid his hand out of Virgil’s, returning it to his lap as he averted his gaze. “Oh boy… that’s quite a story.”

                “I’ve got time.”

                Patton shook his head with a that worn-out smile. “You should be eating lunch, not worrying about me and Logan.”

                Virgil leaned forward and pressed, “I’ve got time.”

                “You’ll miss your afternoon classes if I –”

                “Dad,” Virgil interrupted, placing a hand on Logan’s chest. “I want to know. This is pretty serious, don’t you think?” Patton ducked his chin and ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to find a reason to deny Virgil, but Virgil didn’t give him the chance. “I’m not a little kid. And this shit –” Patton glared at him, and Virgil rolled his eyes. “This _crap_ is getting way crazier than what happened when I was twelve.”

                Patton blinked spastically. “You… you were thrown out of a window, sweetheart. Nearly drowned… almost poisoned…”

                “And now Logan is involved, and you don’t want to tell me his little secret about forbidden curses?” Virgil asked, giving him an odd, half-suspicious glance. “I’m your _son_. Don’t you think I have the right to know?”

                “It’s not… it’s not a secret, kiddo,” Patton said with a discomforted squirm. He paused, chewing on his words for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. “It’s how Logan and I met. And… it’s not a pretty story.”

                Virgil jolted; he’d never heard the story of how Patton and Logan had met. He’d been promised the story once, long ago… but when was that? He couldn’t even remember. He was never told. Patton and Logan had just swept it under the rug, like it didn’t matter. Across the cot, Patton smiled sadly at that.

                “This particular story isn’t really good for kids… especially kids who don’t know how to control their magic.” He glanced over at Logan, reaching over to pet his cheek. “If I’d told you about the Cruiciatus curse when you were little, there… well, there’s a chance you might’ve gotten too interested in it. I didn’t want that.”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “You sayin’ I’m a troublemaker?”

                “Hey, settle down, mister.” Patton sat back and giggled a bit, and for the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely happy. Virgil smirked a little when his father sighed and smiled. “Children are easily influenced, kiddo… I didn’t want to expose you to that.”

                “Expose me to what?” Virgil asked, his voice low and serious. Patton didn’t answer right away. Leaning forward a bit, Virgil pressed the issue. “Expose me to _what_ , Dad?”

                Lifting his eyes from the thick, stiff bedsheets of the infirmary, Patton smiled. It was sad again, like the years had caught up with him and crashed down on his body all at once. Giving Logan’s hand a soft, absent-minded pat, Patton quietly murmured, “The story of how Logan and I met.”

+++++

                Patton didn’t like the Detectives – or Aurors, as he was told to call them – that inhabited the Chigaco MACUSA office. They gave his parents nasty looks when they dropped him off at the front door… _Filthy No-Majs,_ they would think. It made Patton’s heart hurt, but he couldn’t talk back to them. He needed to get through the summer. He needed to work off his crime. He had to survive working for the Aurors just a bit longer. But that knowledge didn’t make things any easier.

                One or two Aurors was enough to set Patton on a teetering, anxious edge… but on that particular Wednesday, he was brought into a room _filled_ with Aurors. They thought such sharp things. When they noticed details, it made his head hurt and his stomach twist. When they had new ideas on the case, he could taste a sharp, metallic copper on the back of his tongue.

_Spoiled brat… making the entire Bureau drop what they’re doing just to investigate their case._ Patton twitched at the voices in his head, glancing at the dark-cloaked Aurors that paced the small, square room. _Can’t believe I have to babysit the Picani case._ Standing by the wall awkwardly, Patton rubbed his arm and waited to be summoned. The thoughts turned in circles around each other… bled together like running ink. They all focused on one thing: _the Picani brat_.

                Patton had never been called in to listen to the thoughts of a child… it was _always_ hardened criminals. They made him listen to their thoughts. Made him explain the details of horrific crimes. Murders, mutilations, rape… from bloodless, spellbound crimes, to the disgusting, primal acts of madmen, Patton had been forced to sit down and hear it all. This… this was different.

                The object of the investigation was a child. _Picani. Cruciatus. Family ties._ These Auror-described details swam through Patton’s head, and he felt a little sick when other Aurors tried to dismiss them. None of the Aurors spoke to each other… they just paced the room, ignoring the fact that Patton was at their disposal.

_I want to go home. I want a book to read._

                Patton blinked. A new voice. The voice of a young man. It was oddly stiff and tired… but the thoughts were one track. When Patton sought out those thoughts, they were softer than the Aurors. Uneasy and afraid… but focused on not showing it.

_I want Emile… he’s at school._ The young boy’s thoughts were sharp, then. Barbed and irritated with himself. _I want Emile. I want Emile. He’s at school… I want Emile anyway._

                Patton felt a pang of pity ring through his chest. Where was the owner of their thoughts? They were scared. Maybe the Aurors made them scared, too. Glancing around the room, Patton barely caught the sight of a teenager sitting in a chair, off to the corner. The Aurors pacing the room nearly hid him behind their fluttering cloaks and stomping feet.

                Leaning over a bit, Patton nearly lost his footing trying to get a closer look at him; was this the PIcani boy? The one the Aurors were so upset about? He was stern, staring down at his shoes with a fury in his eyes. There were bandages on his face. Patton’s chest ached. He’d been hurt. By whom? He could search the boy’s thoughts… maybe that would tell him.

                Without warning, the teen lifted his eyes and turned to see Patton staring. Across the room, Patton’s heart leapt up to his throat. He was _gorgeous_. Deep, chestnut hair… sharp, intelligent eyes. Patton would’ve said it was love at first sight, if such a thing existed.

                The boy narrowed his eyes at Patton’s flustered reaction. _Odd. A No-Maj?_

                Patton flinched at that. He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb, but having a fellow teenager confirm it made him self-conscious. Tugging at the hem of his Mickey-Mouse sweater, Patton averted his gaze to the floor. But it was too late… the boy was focused on him. His thoughts were ringing loud and clear in Patton’s head.

_A No-Maj… but he must be a wizard._

                He was so perceptive, it was making Patton’s head hurt… but he had no way to stop his Legilimency or turn it off… all he could do was stare at the floor while the boy pointedly thought in his direction.

_Why is he here? Does he have to do with the case?_

                There was a pause, and Patton glanced back up to see the boy still watching him. They locked eyes, holding each other’s gazes for a moment. Patton lifted his hand and waved a little bit. The boy gave him an acknowledging nod of his head.

_I like his eyes. He looks gentle. I want… to say something to him. He’s different from my schoolmates. Attractive._ The boy blinked and looked away. _Is this attraction? I need to ask Emile… what did he call it? A crush?_

                Patton nearly screamed. People thought of him as ‘cute’ and ‘annoying’ but he was never, _never_ , labeled as ‘attractive.’ He swallowed thickly, struggling to smother down a smile as the other boy studied the wall with those dark, thoughtful eyes.

_I can’t have a crush on a No-Maj. What would Mother and Father say?_ His thought-process stopped for a moment, turning into a jumble of voices that Patton didn’t recognize… his thoughts came back into order with one, coherent thought: _I don’t have time to care about these feelings._

                Feeling his heart sink a bit, Patton looked around the room. None of the Aurors were speaking to the boy. No one had come to him, asking for him to listen to the thoughts of the boy’s attacker. They just continued to pace. Every so often, one would pause, go to the table in the middle of the room, and scour their notes with enough ferocity, Patton got dizzy.

                But none of them… _none of them_ … acknowledged Patton or the boy.

                Throwing caution to the wind, Patton crept along the side of the room, slowly approaching the chairs. The boy blinked and turned to watch Patton draw closer.

_Cute… brown hair. Well-worn clothing. Freckles?_ Patton smiled at the boy’s detailed analysis, and the thought: _Smile. Smile. Smile…_ burned through Patton’s mind.

                Trying to ignore the pulse of a headache, Patton scooted close to the chairs and held out his hand. “Hi,” he grinned, watching the boy blink and flush handsomely. “I’m Patton. Patton Sanders.”

                “Logan Picani,” the boy responded smoothly as he took Patton’s hand. _Not from a predominant wizarding family. I’ve never heard the name Sanders._ Logan didn’t mention to state this out loud, but the thought was placed on the backburner of his brain. He took his hand away. “Is there some reason you’re in this room? It is a closed-circle investigation.”

                Patton shrugged a little, glancing back at the grumbling, irritated Aurors. “Not so sure myself… I’m normally brought in when they need to figure out someone’s motivation for a crime.”

                Logan’s thoughts were loud as he mulled this information. _How would he know a criminal’s motivation? Is he an Auror? No. A prodigy? Doubtful._

                Logan’s thoughts were terse and factual. Patton liked that. They didn’t spin in circles… they were just a straight line of information. It felt… steady. Instead of drowning in the whirlpool of the Auror’s thoughts, Patton could simply glide down the straight river that was Logan Picani’s thoughts. It was nearly comforting.

                Bouncing on his heels, Patton smiled a little. “It’s… it’s nice to see another kid around here. I’m normally the odd one out.”

                Logan made a face. “I’m not a child. I’m thirteen.”

                “Me, too! Isn’t that cool?” Patton practically squeaked, only to flinch away when the sharp thoughts of the Aurors cut into his mind.

_Too loud. Stupid kid. Shut up. We’re working_.

                They all knew that Patton could hear their thoughts… but they didn’t even try to sugar-coat their anger. It left Patton feeling a little weighed down, and he deflated quickly, leaning back against the wall tiredly. Logan watched this reaction carefully, his thoughts still steady and grounding amidst the chaos.

_Excitable. Like a puppy._ “Do you work with the MACUSA?” Logan asked, curiosity clear in his tone.

                Patton shrugged. “Kinda? I’m… I’m just here for the summer.”

_Temporary. Will I ever see him again?_ Logan’s thoughts were sad and sticky with heavy-handed detachment when he said, “Only the summer? Is this some sort of internship?”

                Again, Patton shrugged. How could he tell someone he just met that he committed a crime against all wizard-kind? Exposing hundreds of No-Majs to his magic? It was a serious felony. “I… I’m just here for three months, working on whatever they need…”

_Secretive. I don’t like it. Suspicious._ Logan narrowed his eyes. “And why are you here now?”

                “That’s _my_ question.” Glancing at the Aurors at the table, Patton pursed his lips. “Maybe they have a suspect they want me to talk to?”

                “The suspect is dead,” Logan said matter-of-factly. Patton glanced back at him, hearing one bone-chilling thought: _I killed them._

                Patton’s eyes went wide. Logan noticed. _Odd reaction. Didn’t he know? Why is he… Patton? Can you hear what I’m thinking?_

                Twitching a little, Patton fought the urge to answer. Should he? Was he supposed to? From everything he’d been taught, announcing his legilimency was frowned upon. He was a rare breed of wizard… and potentially very dangerous. Fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves, Patton pasted a fake smile onto his face.

                “I’m… I’m kinda like a consultant,” he said shakily, watching the way Logan’s brow furrowed. The bandage on his face… the bruise around his left eye that was quickly darkening… was that from the suspect? From the man that Logan had apparently killed? Patton struggled to keep his smile as his hands started to shake; moments ago, he’d had a crush on Logan. Now, he wasn’t sure if he was safe being in the room with him. Licking his lips, Patton tried to sound easygoing as he said, “Maybe they won’t need me today after all!”

_Falsehood. He’s a liar_. “I see,” Logan said stiffly, turning away and staring at the far wall. “Good day, then.”

                Wringing his hands, Patton glanced at the Aurors. They were watching him. They whispered to each other. Patton cringed when their thoughts washed over him again. _Talk. Talk to him. Ask about the curse. Ask about the torture._ Patton’s stomach dropped. He was called into that room for a reason… but it wasn’t to talk to a suspect. He was supposed to interrogate _Logan_. Turning away from the investigators, Patton bit his lower lip.

                “L-Logan?” He asked carefully, trying to seem harmless in the face of the Aurors insistent demands. Logan turned to look at him, all dark irises and cutting thoughts. Patton flinched, but didn’t look away. “Can I ask you some questions?”

                “My father always told me not to speak to Aurors unless I have a lawyer present,” Logan said sternly. Patton raised an eyebrow; his father told him that? Did he give his son legal advice often?

                “I’m not an Auror,” Patton said with a small smile. He was still scared. What did Logan _do_? What was the ‘torture’ the Aurors had thought about? What did they want from him? Clasping his hands behind his back Patton rocked on his heels as he said, “I’m just…”

_You’re a liar. You’re hiding something_. Logan’s tone was sharp, even in his thoughts. Patton made a face, and Logan noticed it. _You can hear me._

                “Yeah,” Patton mumbled, feeling guilt sink, heavy and leaden, into his lungs. “Yeah, I can…”

                Logan’s eyebrows shot up. _A legilimens. I’ve never met one before._

                “Now you have!” Patton announced with a hint of bitterness. The Aurors were still ordering him to ask certain questions. Still telling him to actually _interrogate_. But Logan’s thoughts were so much smoother… so organized. Patton decided to focus on him, instead. “I’m brought in to figure out things that no one else can.”

                _They want details on the assault._ Logan thought with a frown. He looked away from Patton but was kind enough to keep his thoughts clear and concise. _It was painful._ Logan was quiet when he said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

                Fiddling with his sweater sleeves, Patton reached out a supportive hand, rethought it, and took his hand back. “You… you don’t have to say anything.”

                Lifting his eyes, Logan gave Patton a dark look. _I don’t want to think about it, either._

                Thoroughly stumped, Patton looked to the Aurors for assistance. Their minds were oddly quiet. Were they using a charm to protect their thoughts? Were they trying to let him focus on Logan? He looked away from the detectives, only to have his gaze catch on one thing… the case file on the table.

                Shuffling away from Logan, Patton started to reach for it, only half-sure he was prepared to see what lay within.

                “Where are you going?” Logan’s voice cracked halfway through his question, fretful and unprepared to be left alone again. Startled, Patton turned to look at him. What he saw made his heart ache.

                Logan was just as scared as he was. He was just a kid, despite his denial of the fact. He was afraid of the assault. Afraid of the Aurors. He wanted someone to stay with him. He wanted Emile, whoever that was… but Emile wasn’t there. Patton was all he had.

                “I’m not going anywhere,” Patton said gently as he came to stand next to Logan again. Once there, he held out his hand. Logan gave it an odd look, and Patton murmured, “It’s okay to be scared.”

                “I’m not,” said Logan. _I’m terrified_ , Logan thought.

                Patton nodded. “This place can be pretty scary.”

                “No… no, not of this,” Logan said decisively. “I’m not scared of the Bureau.” _I’m scared of what I’ve done._

                Kneeling down in front of Logan, Patton tried to catch his downturned gaze. “What… what _did_ you do, Logan?” Silence, verbal or otherwise. Logan’s mind had closed like a steel-trap. Patton frowned and placed a hand on Logan’s knee. “You… you don’t have to say it out loud. It’s okay.”

                There were a few, quiet moments where Patton assumed that Logan wasn’t going to acknowledge him anymore. They sat quietly in the corner of the room, with half a dozen Aurors surveying and monitoring their every breath. Patton stayed strong, waiting for Logan to say something… _think_ something… _anything_ that would help them.

                When a thought _did_ come, it broke Patton’s heart.

                _I didn’t mean to do it,_ Logan thought desperately, his thoughts starting to jumble and cluster.

                “I’m sure you didn’t,” Patton nodded. “Was it an accident?”

                “I was… scared,” Logan admitted through gritted teeth. _They wanted to hold me for ransom. Use my family name as bait._ “They… they had some sort of… crudely-made wand.” _They used it to perform the Cruciatus curse. It made me feel like…_

                Logan’s thoughts were foggy on this point, and all Patton could feel was pain. Pure, excruciating pain. Like fire grating through nerves, needles in every pore of skin, bathing his inner organs in lye and making it impossible to think.

                Wrenching his hand away, Patton held it to his chest, feeling to make sure he was still safe and alive. The pain disappeared. The curse was all in his head. Or… Logan’s head. He glanced up, seeing Logan’s tired, pained expression.

_I wanted to run,_ Logan frowned and closed his eyes tight. _But they wouldn’t let me go. I tried, and they took out the wand. They were going to kill me._

                Patton blinked and looked down. Logan was shaking, trembling with fear. Reaching out again, Patton tried to soothe that worry. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe here, I promise.”

                Opening his eyes, Logan smiled a bit. Patton’s heart melted; he was so insanely cute. Patton was head over heels for this boy… and he’d hardly known him for thirty minutes.

                Their dynamic was shattered when Logan caught a glance of Patton’s wand sticking out of his pants pocket. Flinching away, Logan’s eyes went wide as his breath caught in his throat. _The wand. The curse. Pain. They’ll kill me. Danger. Where to run? Get rid of the wand. Get rid of the attacker._

                Patton raised his hands in surrender, ready to throw his wand across the room if need be. “H-hey! It’s okay! I won’t hurt you, Logan. I couldn’t if I tried!”

                Logan swallowed thickly, his eyes trained on the wand. _They’re going to kill me. I killed one of them. The other is going to kill me. He has the wand. That’s the wand._

                Patton made a face. “No! No, this is _my_ wand, Logan.” He pulled it out of his pocket as if to prove a point, holding it out for display. “See? Harmless!”

                Without hesitation, Logan snatched the wand from Patton’s hand and broke it over his knee with a quick, sickening _snap_ of wood. Patton stood frozen, his hand still out as if to hold the wand. _His_ wand. His _first_ wand. The one his parents had bought them… even though they had so little money to spare.

                It took a few seconds for Logan to register what he’d just done. He blinked slowly, looking down at the halved wand. Alarmed at his own actions, he tried to hold out the pieces to Patton, as if that would make it any better.

                “Patton, I… I’m sorry,” Logan’s voice was trembling and close. Patton couldn’t see him. His eyes were blurry. His hands were shaking. His heart was broken. “Patton? Don’t cry. It’s not necessary to… it’s just a wand, I… I’m sorry, Patton. I’m _sorry_.”

                Patton blinked, registering the warm slide of tears down his cheeks. Feeling his lips tremble, Patton swiped away at his cheeks, managing to blubber, “It’s o-okay… I’ve g-got everything I n-need.” He turned back to the Aurors, watching them lean into one another and whisper fervently while Patton sniffled uselessly. “I just… n-need to make a… a r-report and…”

                “Here,” Logan said softly as he pressed to the two pieces of Patton’s wand into his waiting hand. Feeling fresh tears carve a path down his face, Patton coughed a sad, hysterical laugh.

                How would he get through the next year of school without a wand? What would he tell his parents? They were still heartbroken and torn with the fresh loss of Jack… Patton had had right to complain about his wand. That, and Nancy was refusing to talk to him. He couldn’t go to _her_ for help. His chest hurt… wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear.

_Patton? Patton. Please, look at me. Look at me._

                Blinking a few times, Patton rubbed at his eyes until he could see Logan’s distressed expression. It was rare to have someone think so directly at him… and yet, so gentle. So careful. Like Logan was afraid he’d break. Patton sniffed, and Logan pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

                “I’ll… I’ll pay for a new wand,” Logan said, surefire in this decision. “It’s my own post-traumatic stress that triggered my reaction. It’s only right that _I_ pay for a replacement.” Opening his mouth to deny the offer – more of out of impulse than pride – Patton was surprised to have Logan hold up a hand to silence him. “I insist,” he pressed, no hint of hesitation in his voice. “It’s the least I can do.” Catching Patton’s watery gaze, Logan nodded to himself and said, “Because of you… I don’t have to say it,” he murmured, pain glittering in his eyes as he touched a hand to the gauze on his cheek. “I don’t have to… describe it aloud. So… thank you.”

                Once Patton managed to wipe off his face with the silky kerchief, he smiled and handed it back. He liked Logan. He liked the way Logan thought. He liked the way Logan spoke. He liked… all of him. Opening his mouth to thank Logan for the offer, Patton was startled to hear the door burst open. It opened wide, slamming back against the wall as a man stepped into the room. Immediately, his eyes landed on Logan.

_Useless Aurors_ , the man thought darkly. _My son should be their top priority. And here they are… standing around like a bundle of morons._

                Patton blinked; this had to be Logan’s father. He didn’t get a chance to introduce himself as the Aurors skittered around the room, each one trying to introduce themselves to Mr. Picani. Their thoughts fluttered around half-hearted flattery and hope for promotion with recommendation. But, from Patton’s view, none of them was going to earn any praise. Mr. Picani was furious.

                “Logan,” Mr. Picani said in a low, serious tone that rumble beneath the comments of the Aurors. Immediately, they were quiet and watching Mr. Picani in fearful awe. Patton’s brow furrowed; who _was_ this man? Mr. Picani waved Logan forward, almost like he was beckoning a dog. “Come. We’re going home.”

                None of the Aurors had the spine to disagree, though many of them thought of the repercussions… letting Logan leave now would mean mounds of paperwork later. However, none of them made a move to say anything. Logan nodded calmly.

                “Goodbye, Patton,” he said calmly as he secretively slipped his hand kerchief back into Patton’s hand. Patton held it tight and smiled as Logan straightened his glasses. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

                Patton nodded. “Yeah, it was –”

                “ _Son_ ,” Mr. Picani snapped. “We’re leaving. _Now_.”

                With one last glance, Logan walked to the door. His father put a hand on his shoulder, steering him away from the Aurors… and away from Patton. With one quick glance at his hand, Patton smiled; Logan’s hand kerchief had an address scrawled on the lining. Had he used a spell for that? Probably… he was smart. Patton giggled as he held the kerchief to his chest.

                For Logan, he’d help with the case. If it would help Logan feel safe again… if it meant seeing him one more time… he’d find his other kidnapper. He’d save Logan. Patton pushed the kerchief into his pocket and stepped up to the case file, flipping over a sheet and describing exactly what Logan had been thinking. If he could do something… _anything_ for Logan… he’d do it.

                Just to see him one more time.

+++++

                Virgil sat back, seeing the lazy, foggy cloud of nostalgia drift through his father’s eyes. Obviously, this story was a warm one for him to look back upon… but for Virgil, it was nothing short of terrifying. Logan had been kidnapped and _tortured_ as a child, all because of his well-known wizarding family. It was no wonder he’d been so upset when the attacks against Virgil started… he’d known that fear. That jumpiness that came with constantly being under-attack. He’d experienced that brush of near-death, and what’s more, he had taken a life to save himself.

                Logan was a force to be reckoned with.

                “He sure is,” Patton agreed tiredly as he pat Logan’s hand. “His family is pretty well-known in the wizarding world… and, from what he’d told me, it wasn’t the first time he’d been in a situation like that.”

                Virgil hand twitched, reaching out for Logan’s hand instinctively. Logan was always quiet about his past… and his family. He never liked to talk about it. Now Virgil finally understood why… so why wasn’t he satisfied? Why was there still a puzzle-piece that didn’t quite fit?

                What would put his mind at ease?

                “Not sure, kiddo,” Patton answered, his eyes never leaving Logan’s face. “I… I’m not sure of _anything_ these days.”

                “Welcome to my world,” Virgil said sarcastically, seeing the way amusement flickered in Patton’s eyes. It didn’t last long, and the glint faded back to dull, anxious unhappiness, leaving Patton looking like a man on the edge of the world, ready to jump.

                “Logan knows more about the signs and symptoms of the Unforgivable Curses… because he’s _experienced_ them,” Patton murmured, almost like an afterthought. “But we can’t ask him what he felt until he wakes up.”

                Virgil pressed his lips together tightly, trying to ignore the tremble of Patton’s hands. “When will that be?”

                “I don’t know,” Patton admitted lowly.

                Virgil squirmed in his seat, looking back and forth between his fathers nervously. “Well… I mean, is there anything we can do?”

                Patton closed his eyes and sighed, “I don’t know.”

                “We… we have to do _something¸_ he can’t just stay asleep forever –”

                “I don’t _know_ , Virgil!” Patton snapped, his eyes wide and watery as he spread his hands in surrender. “Tonics don’t work. Charms don’t work. The nurse doesn’t even know what to do! I’m… I’m just…” he took off his glasses and passed a shaky hand through his hair. Virgil sat back, his nerves burning with shame as Patton collected himself. After a few tense seconds, Patton murmured, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

                “It’s okay,” Virgil insisted as he reached across the bed to touch Patton’s hand. Those tired, teary, hazel eyes met his, trembling and unsure as Virgil tried to comfort him. “I mean… we’ll figure something out.”

                Patton smiled a little, and it was strained as he put his glasses back on. “Yeah… I’ll find something to help him. I need both of my boys,” he said softly as he took Virgil and Logan’s hands in his own. “I’d be lost without you two.”

+++++

                Virgil spent the next day and a half trying to research ways to break the hex that was on Logan. No charms affected it, just like Patton had said. The nurse had exhausted her supplies of potions and was forced to ask for outside help. At this rate, the MACUSA would be contact and emergency protocols would be put into place. Not that it would be a bad thing… at least _they_ might be able to help.

                However, the lack of Logan was noticed throughout the school, and it gave Virgil a whole lot of unnecessary attention around Ilvermorny. Instead of looking at Virgil in suspicion, people now stared at him with… pity. Sad, curious empathy followed him wherever he went, and though no one ever spoke to him, he could feel their whispers on his skin.

                The classroom wasn’t a safe place to mull Logan’s recovery-ideas anymore. So many people would peek over his shoulder. Just to see what he was doing… but never to talk to him. It was discomforting. He couldn’t even find refuge in Patton’s classroom; his father spent most of his free time at the infirmary, holding Logan’s hand and keeping an eye on him. When he _was_ there, students flocked to him in droves, eager for details and gossip on Logan’s condition. In the end, Virgil had found shelter in the library, tucking himself away in the corner where no one would look for him.

                Well, no one except Roman Prince.

                “Virgil! Buddy, pal, friend…” Roman’s voice was loud and obnoxious in the library as he sauntered in and dropped his books next to Virgil’s notebook. “I need a favor, my dark and edgy friend.”

                Virgil didn’t look up as he turned a page in his potions textbook. “I’m kinda busy.”

                Despite that response, Roman pushed a book toward Virgil. “I need help with No-Maj studies.”

                Virgil made a face. “School _just_ started. How can you already be struggling?”

                “To be fair,” Roman said as he took the chair next to Virgil and fell into it with a huff. “It is my _one_ and _only_ weakness.”

                “Sure, sure… can it wait?” Virgil asked, his fingers scratching at the yellowing pages of his books.

                He was close to finding what he needed… he just needed to remember what Logan had taught him. More than once, he found himself wishing Logan was there to help him… but Virgil was trying to make the potion for Logan so he could wake up. If Logan was awake and able to help, there would be no need for the potion. Virgil scratched a hand through his hair as he flipped back through a few pages and poured over a list of activating ingredients.

                For a few seconds, Roman was quiet. He leaned forward, catching a glimpse of the text on the page before sitting back. “Is that for your father?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil muttered as he wrote down honeywater and blisterwart in black ink. Roman made a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat, and Virgil gave him a sidelong glare. “Got something to say, Princey?”

                “Oh, not really… just thinking.” Roman sat back and looked away, obviously biting his tongue.

                Virgil frowned and gestured to his notes. “What’s wrong with it? These are safe.”

                Roman clicked his tongue and made a wobbly gesture with his hands. “Not _together_ , they’re not. Blisterwart can be highly corrosive with mixed with honeywater… sprinkle a little tamma root in there? Boom!” He spread his arms wide in a grand display. “Your cauldron will be nothing but rubble.”

                Gritting his teeth, Virgil shoved his notebook aside and let his head fall to the table with a resounding _slam_. He heard the way Roman flinched and shifted in his seat. And then there was the slide of a book across the table. Roman was looking at his notes. Virgil sighed.

                “I suck at this,” he grumbled into the hardwood surface of the table.

                “No one ever said potion-inventing was _easy_ ,” Roman retorted dryly as he turned a few pages. After seeing a few failed potion ideas, the page-turning turned a little frantic. There were at least three dozen potions that hadn’t worked. Virgil didn’t lift his head as Roman sputtered, “You… have you made all of these?”

                “Yeah.”

                “And… and you gave them to Mr. Sanders... I mean, your father?”

                Virgil turned to look at him darkly. “ _No_ , you moron. Most of them kinda… fizzled out.”

                “I could guess that,” Roman muttered as he started going back through the notes. “Most of them are… pretty…”

                Squinting, Virgil watched Roman struggle for words. It was clear he was trying to be nice, but insults were the only thing coming to mind. With a heavy sigh, Virgil lowered his face back to the table, letting Roman fumble his words for a few minutes.

                “Well… it’s not that you’re _bad_ at this, Virgil,” Roman said, trying to be supportive as he turned through the pages. “But it seems like most of your experiments are very… sheltered.”

                Virgil made a face at that, turning to give Roman odd look. “Sheltered?” He echoed, a little offended by the judgement. “What does that mean?”

                Roman shrugged, pushing the notebook back toward Virgil delicately. “Nothing bad! It’s just… don’t you ever just… branch out from the ‘safe’ ingredients? Go wild?”

                Turning away, Virgil shuffled his feet under the table tiredly. Logan hadn’t wanted to really ‘experiment’ at home for a long time… it had been years since they played around with new potion ideas. Virgil hid his scowl from Roman as he muttered, “My family isn’t big on going wild. They’re more of a… place it safe kinda people.”

                “Ah. Makes sense… that must be why you’re so monochromatic.” Roman nodded to himself, as if this was a totally normal thing to say. Virgil gave him a disbelieving shake of his head.

                “Oh yeah? You’ve got better ideas than me, Hotshot?”

                “Oh, Virgil… Virgil, Virgil, Virgil…” Roman placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a warmhearted smile. “Have no fear. Roman Prince is here.” With that, he took the notebook back, flipping through several pages before landing on Virgil’s latest attempt. “Here we go… notice anything interesting?”

                Virgil squinted. It was just a list of ingredients along with a few shaky, off-handed ideas on how it would go together. He gave Roman another sidelong glance. Maybe this was some sort of potions skill that Virgil didn’t know yet… had he missed something important in his years of homeschooling?

                “No,” Virgil finally mumbled. “I don’t see anything.”

                “That’s because you’re in the box,” Roman tapped his temple with a grin. “You have to think _outside_ the box to find the fun stuff.”

                “Fun stuff like helping my dad wake up from a crazy magic coma?” Virgil asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Roman ignored it and smiled anyway.

                “Sure! You’re so caught up in your motivation… you’re not noticing the pattern.”

                Virgil sat back with a confused grumble. What pattern? What was Roman talking about? As if to answer, Roman took a red ink pen and circled a single ingredient on the page. Then, he flipped to the next test, circled one ingredient, and went on from there. This continued until he’d gone through all of Virgil’s failed potion attempts. Once he was finished, he pushed the notebook back to Virgil with an air of victorious finality.

                “There,” he said with a stupidly handsome grin. “It should be hard not to notice the pattern when it’s right in front of you.”

                Taking the notebook, Virgil flipped through the pages. Vauntus leaf… vauntus leaf… vautus leaf… Roman had circled the same ingredient in every single potion. It was an activating ingredient, meant to draw out the properties of the other additives. It was in _every_ single potion.

                But… what did this information do for them? What did they gain from it?

                As if he could hear the cogs grinding in Virgil’s brain, Roman leaned forward and tapped the page knowingly. “It’s interesting that the most crucial, activating ingredient shows up in _every_ potion, don’t you think?”

                Virgil shrugged and bit his lip. “I mean… sure, I guess…”

                Roman pressed the issue. “You said all the normal potions don’t work. All of those brain-stimulating potions use vauntus leaf, don’t they?”

                Something started to click in Virgil’s brain, but he couldn’t quite understand the whole picture yet. “Yeah, they did.”

                Roman was practically vibrating in his seat when he said, “It might be a shot in the dark, but it’s too coincidental to ignore! Maybe the hex or the curse… whatever it is, maybe it’s immune to the effects of vauntus leaf. Maybe the attacker _knew_ that we would go for traditional cures and planned around it!” He stood abruptly, pacing around the table while several other students in the library started to stop and stare. “Oh my _Morrigan_ , we’ve stumbled on an evil mastermind! The kind you read about in books! Diabolical and ingenious…” Roman looked to Virgil with a smile that bordered on hysteric-excitement. “And that means we have to save the day!”

                For a second, Virgil leaned back and blinked spastically. Roman was enthusiastic, for sure, but… there was no way to confirm what he’d just said. “You… kinda lost me. I mean… how could a hex be immune to something? It’s not a virus.”

                “That we _know of_ ,” Roman corrected as he scrambled for the notebook again. “Look… these potions _should_ work. They’re fail-safe. Tested for hundreds of years. Why aren’t they working now?”

                Virgil shrugged. “A curse?”

                “No,” Roman snapped. “Because the person who did this to your family is _smart_ and tired of waiting for results.”

                “You are… weirdly invested in all of this,” Virgil muttered as Roman sauntered over to a bookshelf and started scanning titles. “I had no idea you were so into potions, anyway.”

                Roman shrugged and pulled a book down from the third shelf. “My father expects good grades in every subject… it’s why I came in here to ask you for help in No-Maj Studies… but this is more important.”

                Virgil squinted; that was a convenient excuse. “Why? Why do you care? This isn’t your problem.”

                Pausing his frantic search for information, Roman turned to give Virgil a hard stare. “Virgil… we’re friends, right? We talked about it… what? Two days ago? And we agreed, didn’t we?”

                Squirming under the scrutiny, Virgil looked away. “Well, _yeah_ , but…”

                “I think the moment we became friends, this became _my_ problem, too.” Roman walked back to the table and set the book on the table, leafing through the pages until he found what he wanted. “I’m not the kind of friend that just sits on the sidelines and watches bad things happen. After all these years, I finally get to _do_ something for you, Virgil.”

                Leaning back a bit, Virgil bit the corners of his smile quietly. He’d never had someone outside his family be so adamant in their desire to help him… it was nice, in its own way. But it was also very new. A little suffocating. Being close to someone was a risk… it always was. It meant possibly getting hurt.

                Even so… he wanted to jump at the chance to stay with Roman.

                “Here,” Roman said, slapping a page on the book in front of him. Virgil blinked himself out of his thoughts, sitting forward to see a slapdash guide to potion making. He quirked an eyebrow and looked at Roman expectantly, earning a smile in return. “This book has a ton of good work-arounds for potions… especially when you’re out of a certain ingredient.”

                “Like… a substitute?” Virgil asked, his heart swelling with hope as he pulled the book toward himself. “You… you think if we made the regular potions without the vauntus leaf, it might work?”

                Roman shrugged. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right? If this curse is really out to get you guys, we might as well not wait.”

                Nodding in agreement, Virgil bookmarked the vauntus leaf substitute page and grabbed his notebook. “Yeah. You know a place we can mix this stuff up?”

                Roman lit up with excitement and he was already walking when he said, “I have a spare cauldron and a secret stash for fun experiments… follow me!”

                And Virgil did… at first. He took a few steps, and then felt his body stop. Something strange settled into his bones. The air felt prickly with static electricity. His lungs burned when he took a breath. Virgil swallowed thickly, glancing up to see Roman giving him an odd look.

                “Virgil? We don’t really have any time to lose, so…” Roman paused and backtracked a little, meeting Virgil between the enormous, sheltering masses of two bookshelves. “What’s wrong?”

                “I don’t know,” Virgil admitted as he shrugged a little. Something didn’t sit right, but he couldn’t name it. The world was off-kilter, but Virgil still had his feet flat on the ground, like nothing had changed. Everything around him was fine… so why was he uneasy? “I don’t know.”

                Roman stepped a little closer, cocking his head to the side to catch Virgil’s downturned gaze. “You want your father to wake up, don’t you?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil said softly.

                “And that involves mixing the potion together, right?” Virgil met Roman’s gaze with a hint of sharpness in his eyes. Roman didn’t back down. In fact, Roman met that stare with an unamused quirk of an eyebrow. “Well? Doesn’t it?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil grumbled.

                “So? What are we waiting for?”

                Virgil fidgeted, fumbling with his notebooks uneasily. “I don’t know, I’m just –”

                “This is your family, Virgil. Isn’t that important?”

                Virgil’s gaze darted to the side, avoiding the spark in Roman’s eyes. “Yeah, but –”

                “If _I_ had your family, I’d be running to get this potion to my father.” Roman crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto his right foot. “So why aren’t _you_?”

                Virgil clenched his teeth and shook his head; he didn’t have to explain himself. He didn’t want to. The only person he explained his worries to was Uncle Emile… and he wasn’t here. Virgil was left alone and exposed. He looked up from the ground, expecting to see burning irritation in Roman’s expression. To his surprise, Roman stood in front of him with a childish, fervent curiosity. He wanted to help… he just wasn’t sure how he could do so.

                Without thinking, Virgil whispered, “What if it doesn’t work?” Roman blinked, mystified by the question, and Virgil held his notebook a little tighter. “What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he _never_ wakes up?”

                Roman uncrossed his arms and reached out to Virgil, attempting to backpeddle out of the troubling topic. “Virgil, we need to try this one first… we’ll test it to make sure it works.”

                “But what if he _doesn’t_?” Virgil pressed desperately. “My dad is already heartbroken… it’s like he thinks that Logan is already dead. He’s not the same… he’s so sad _all_ the time. And he tries to be happy for me. He tries to smile. And he… he _can’t_.” Virgil backtracked and sat back down at his table, tossing his notebook to the side. “He won’t be okay if this doesn’t work. I… _I_ won’t be okay if this doesn’t work.”

                Roman knelt in front of him, placing his hands on Virgil’s knees as he fervently said, “It will! It _will_ work!”

                “How do you know?” Virgil asked, panic blooming in his chest as he fought to keep his anxiety under control. “How can you be sure?”

                Roman’s gaze darted around wildly, struggling to come up with some sort of reason on the fly. “B-because… because…”

                “We can replace vauntus leaf, but there’s _no_ substitute for my father!” Virgil shouted, earning a few dirty looks from the other students in the library.

                “Hey,” Roman said, reaching up a supportive hand to grab Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. We’re going to make this potion and figure this out. Even if it doesn’t work this time, we’ll try again. It’s a step in the right direction.”

                Virgil took a shaky breath and shook his head. “But… if it doesn’t –”

                “Then we’ll try again. Together.” Roman smiled up at him, and Virgil brushed his bangs back into his eyes, hoping that Roman wouldn’t see the embarrassed flush of his face. Roman’s hand on his shoulder slipped back down to brace on his knees, waiting for Virgil to catch his breath again. “Take your time, big guy. We’ll go and mix it up when you’re ready.”

                Sliding his hand across the table, Virgil grabbed his notebook and pulled it close. There was no guarantee it would work… there was no guarantee _anything_ would work. In Virgil’s mind, he was still mulling every bad outcome to the situation. But Roman stayed with him, patiently waiting for Virgil to come to his senses. Or at the very least, trust Roman’s better judgement.

                Throwing caution to the wind, Virgil grabbed his notebook and stood. “Fine. You think we can do this?”

                Roman grinned smugly as he lead Virgil out of the library. “I _know_ we can.”

                From the deep, dimly lit corridors of the southern wing of Ilvermorny, Roman lead Virgil down to the far side of the school. The Thunderbird dorms were there, but Virgil had never seen them before… surely, Roman’s little hideaway wasn’t hidden in plain sight, was it? He didn’t want an audience when he was constructing his father’s cure.

                Roman took a sharp left, and Virgil stumbled to follow. He looked a little frantic… or maybe he was just excited. He’d been oddly energized when discussing the potion earlier. Roman must’ve had a passion for potions… or, at the very least, creating new things. Down another corridor… down a flight of stairs Roman had never seen… Ilvermorny had a basement? Virgil had never heard of a basement there before. Apparently, the janitorial staff hadn’t heard of it either.

                The deep, dark recesses of the basement was dusty and decrepit. Stone pillars served as loadbearing structures, leaving the rest of the stone interior looking sad and threadbare as Roman pressed onward. After a few dozen feet, Roman had to light his wand to keep the darkness at bay, leading Virgil to the far-right wall.

                “Ta-dah!” He said, gesturing to the hidden nook with a dramatic flair.

                There were cases of ingredients, some of which Virgil had never seen. A few books were laying to the side… one of them was for potions, but the vast majority of them were… Virgil blinked. Was that sheet music? Roman didn’t let him look long as he pulled out a cauldron and flicked the light of his wand to the ceiling. Once there, it stuck and hovered over him, casting Roman in an ethereal light as he started to unscrew a bottle of honeywater.

                “Alright-y,” Roman glanced up to gave Virgil a mischevious grin, and Virgil nearly felt his knees quake. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

+++++

                Virgil watched Roman carefully, seeing the way his eyes remained wide and alert. It was odd, testing his potions on Roman… it made him more nervous. What if he made a mistake? What if he accidentally poisoned him? Roman had brushed those worries aside, insisting that they couldn’t hold back creativity with fear. But still… seeing Roman sitting ramrod straight on the floor with unblinking eyes was… in short, it was terrifying.

                Licking his lips, Virgil leaned to the side, watching the way Roman didn’t follow him, choosing to stare straight ahead. It was creepy. Would Logan do this if they fed the potion to him? It was horrifying.

                “How… how do you feel?” Virgil asked carefully, sliding his notebook toward himself to take notes.

                “I have never felt so awake in my life,” Roman said robotically, his hands shaking a little where they sat braced on his crossed legs. Abruptly, he started to tremble. Virgil flinched away from that, watching the way Roman’s eyelid twitched. “It’s like… I had five _thousand_ cups of coffee. I can’t… hold still… I think I’m going to explode.”

                Virgil’s hands shook. “O-oh… that’s not good.”

                “Bit not good,” Roman laughed, though he didn’t smile. He _still_ wasn’t blinking. “But… if it makes _me_ feel awake, it should work right? It should work. Reasonably, of course. Might work. Might give your dad a heart-attack. Who knows? I don’t. I don’t know a lot of stuff.”

                “Slow down,” Virgil ordered, reaching out to make a cleansing tonic. “We’ll throw this one out. Let me make you a tonic…”

                “No! It’s not… not my heart,” Roman said quickly – good god, why wasn’t he blinking? – as he reached out to stop Virigl. His hands were shaking so violently, they made _Virgil’s_ hands start to shake. “It’s my brain. My heart isn’t pounding. Threatening a heart-attack was a bad idea. I’m bad. Bad Roman.”

                Virgil made a face at that. “Oh… okay? But, dude… you’re seriously freaking me out.”

                “I’m freaking _myself_ out,” Roman said, staring through Virgil with those wide, fearless blue eyes. “But seriously… this thing is working. The substitute worked like a charm… the brain-activating ingredients are doing their job.”

                “So you think it’ll work on my dad?” Virgil asked, his voice creeping up into a hopeful whisper as he grabbed an empty vial. “You think he’ll wake up?”

                “Honestly, Tall, Dark and Handsome, if you give him this stuff, I’ll be surprised if he ever falls asleep again.”

                Side-stepping the nickname, Virgil scooped up a bit of their concoction, pushed a rubber stopper on the end and darted from his spot on the floor. “Thanks, Roman!”

                “When it works, come back and help me with my No-Maj studies!” Roman called after him, his voice echoing ominously in the basement as Virgil bounded up the stairs.

                It took longer than he thought it would to find the infirmary – he should’ve waited and asked Roman for directions from that obscure hiding place – but he burst through the doors with the vial in hand. Everything was just as he’d left it two days ago… except for one thing. The infirmary was still nearly empty. Patton still sat at Logan’s bedside. But there was a new face at the edge of the bed that made Virgil’s rushing steps grind to a halt.

                “Principal Remulus,” Virgil managed to gasp as he caught his breath. The Principal lifted their golden eyes to meet his, and a sad, sorry smile lingered on his thin lips. Virgil knew that look well; it was pity. Tucking the vial into the pocket of his school robes, Virgil walked the last few steps to Logan’s bedside. “I didn’t know you’d be in here.”

                Remulus blinked slowly, hardly moved by the comment. “It’s a grave situation we’ve found ourselves in… I’m not even sure what to make of it.” His gaze flickered over to Patton, holding for a moment before he sighed, “Not even _my_ spells could break this hex.”

                Patton took a shuddering breath before he covered his mouth, holding back a sob. Virgil cringed, eager to show his successful potion but unsure whether he could trust Remulus or not. That uneasiness didn’t last long. Remulus stood from his seat and indicated for Virgil to sit.

                “I need to get back to my office… I’m sorry, Patton,” Remulus said with that smile still playing on his lips. “I wish there was more I could have done for you.”

                Patton shook his head. “No… you did your best. Thank you…”

                Smiling that sympathy-sick smile, Remulus gave a small inclination of his head before turning and heading for the door. He seemed to glide over the smooth, stone floors with those silvery robes, and Virgil had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the Principal to show off his cure-all solution.

                “Look,” he held out the vial to Patton, eager for validation. Blinking a few times, Patton eyed the vial before giving Virgil a confused look. Virgil smiled.  “Roman and I figured out how to fix Dad.”

                “You… figured out what?” Patton squinted for a moment, adjusting his glasses for a better look at the blue liquid, before his eyes went wide. “You left Roman in the _basement_?” He stared up at Virgil in horror. “And he was… _what_? Virgil, experimenting with potions on your fellow student is –”

                “Dangerous, I know, but…” Virgil unscrewed the cap and held it over Logan’s lips, starting to tilt it before Patton caught his wrist and held tight.

                “Virgil!” Patton hissed, his tone dark and serious. Virgil shrunk away at the tone, feelby triyng to pull his hand away. Patton held tight, though, watching Virgil with hurt, disapproving eyes. After a few tense seconds, Patton released him and moved to prop Logan up and open his mouth. “You can’t make someone drink a potion if their mouth isn’t open, kiddo. I thought we taught you better than that.”

                Letting out a breathless laugh, Virgil steadied his nerves as he lowered the vial to Logan’s parted lips and tipped it back. Patton clamped his jaw shut and they both winced at the _click_ of Logan’s teeth before Patton tipped Logan’s head back to force him to swallow. Stepping back, Virgil pushed the cap back onto the vial and bit his lip. It had to work. It _had_ to work.

                Patton still sat on the bed, holding Logan upright with an arm around his shoulder. Logan’s head tipped forward again, and Patton sighed tiredly, laying him back against the pillow with a frown.

                “How long did it take for the potion to kick in?” Patton asked, his voice hardly a whisper as he passed a hand through Logan’s dark hair.

                Virgil fiddled with the empty vial, chewing on his lip as he hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe a minute? It was pretty obvious it was working when –”

                Logan’s sharp intake of breath cut Virgil off. He and Patton leaned forward over Logan, eagerly waiting to see if he was indeed awake.

                “I’m not sure… what you gave me,” Logan said, his voice hoarse and gravelly from days without use. “But it has given me an _impressive_ migraine.”

                “Logan,” Patton said breathlessly. “Logan!” He threw himself on top of Logan, holding him close as he started to cry. “You’re okay! Oh god, I thought… Logan, oh, Logan…”

                Virgil let out a sigh of relief. His mind stopped spinning for the first time in days. The world seemed to set itself back on the right rotation. He fell into the seat next to the cot, taking Logan’s free hand.

                “Welcome back, Dad,” he murmured gently as Logan blinked up at the ceiling blearily.

                “Thank you.” Logan used his other hand to rub Patton’s back, and Virgil watched with a smile as Logan titled his face into Patton’s hair, taking a deep, calming breath. “Though I’m not sure where I went… I’m glad to be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odd... wonder what actually happened to Logan?  
> I sure hope Roman gets a good night's rest after this. If he can.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> See you next chapter.


	13. Out of the nest, into the fire

                Virgil went through his days with a vague, underlying sense of dread following him like a dark cloud. Logan had returned to teaching his classes. He had no memory of the curse… or whatever it might have been. It infuriated him, but there was nothing that could be done. Memories could not be mended like holes in fabric… and using magic might only make it worse.

                So, a day passed. Then a second, and a third. Each passing moment left Virgil looking over his shoulder, tensing at every movement, and leering at every stranger that walked his way. He couldn’t trust anyone… or anything. Couldn’t he?

                He trusted Logan and Patton. They were his fathers. They loved him. And yet… Logan had almost attacked Patton under the influence of a curse. Could Virgil trust Roman? His first friend that was once an enemy. He wanted to trust Roman. He _wanted_ to… but the longer nothing happened to him, the most suspicious Virgil became of his surroundings.

                In the end, Virgil was left with a feeling of unbalanced quiet as the days passed him by. Each class he attended would drift through his mind, but the lessons would not stick. It was an odd, dissociative feeling as he waited for something bad to happen… but nothing ever did.

                It was how he found himself seeking comfort one lonely, Thursday afternoon. But he didn’t seek out Logan or Patton. No… he didn’t want to be more of a burden. He sought out Roman, wandering the halls near the Thunderbird dorm and searching for him in their shared classes. But Roman wasn’t there.

                When all else failed, Virgil slunk down those dark, hidden passages Roman had showed him only days ago. The hidden stairway was still dark and ominous, but instead of eerie silence waiting for Virgil, there was the soft, echoing sound of singing. Virgil hesitated at the top of the stairs; it was probably Roman.

                Why would he want to sing in that dark, dusty dungeon? What did he have to hide?

                Taking the stairs slowly, Virgil held his hand to the stone wall, tracing his fingertips against the rough stone as he listened to Roman sing. It was a love song of some kind. Theatrical and melodic. Virgil had never heard it before. It was meant to be some sort of pining, aching love song, with long, dragging vibrato and sweet words Virgil had never been graced with before.

                It was beautiful. But so, _so_ sad. It was like Roman was singing a goodbye to a long-lost lover, and as Virgil made his way through the low, cryptic basement of Ilvermorny, he could see Roman standing in the soft, hazy glow of candlelight.

                He sang into the depths with passion, his hand to his breast and eyes closed as he swayed with the emotion of his own song. If Virgil didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed that Roman was a siren, calling him to that very spot… to that very moment… just to devour him in the dark.

                Without warning, Roman stopped singing. His eyes opened, and he stared into the darkness beyond his little corner of secrets. He looked lost in his own sanctuary, staring into the shadows like they held some sort of answer. Virgil thinned his lips and stepped into the light.

                “Nice song,” he said gently, trying to be nonchalant about his eavesdropping.

                Roman let out a high-pitched scream as he jumped and scampered away from Virgil. Virgil could only sputter and laugh at the reaction; apparently Roman hadn’t known he was there. But… if he hadn’t, what had he been looking for in the dark? Why did he stop singing?

                Stomping his foot angrily, Roman walked up to Virgil and gave him a in indignant shove. “Morrigan’s ghost, you scared the hell out of me...” He looked up at Virgil warily. “Lurking in the shadows like that… what do you think you are, a dementor?”

                “I’m dark and angsty enough,” Virgil conceded with a sly smile. He’d only been with Roman for a moment, and he was feeling better already. He could’ve used this friendship back home… back when he was so lonely, feel didn’t feel like he fit in his own skin. Like he was dissolving bit by bit. Roman… Roman changed that. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his school robes, Virgil watched Roman pick up a few pieces of sheet music and shuffle them together. “Whatcha doin’?”

                Roman, despite his normal, flamboyant personality, seemed oddly subdued when he muttered, “Nothing, really.” He set his papers on an old bookshelf, the same one where Virgil’s notebook of potions still lay from three days prior.

                Cocking his head to the side, Virgil took a seat on a piece of stone that had once been a part of a supporting column. It had long since crumbled, leaving the floor littered with these makeshift chairs. Roman didn’t pay him much attention as he picked up his wand and produced several other soft, floating lights, illuminating the cavern in a sullen, yellow light along with the few candles that lined his bookshelves.

                “What were you singing?” Virgil asked, admiring the way Roman hesitated to look at him. When he did, there was a vision of expected excitement in his eyes… masked by a layer of dread. Virgil blinked and leaned his elbows on his knees, sitting forward as he quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard it before.”

                “That’s because I wrote it,” Roman whispered with a careful smile. He fidgeted with his hands, looking everywhere except at Virgil. “I… I’ve always loved music. And singing. I... when I was younger, I dreamed about being a choir teacher, right here in Ilvermorny…” Roman’s starry-eyed smiled turned sour when he muttered, “But… my father disapproves. He wants me to take over the family business.”

                Virgil pursed his lips. “Who cares what he wants?” Roman gave him a baffled look, and Virgil shrugged. “It’s your life, not his.”

                For a moment, Roman simply stared at Virgil, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “You… you do know that there are only _three_ wand makers in America, right?” His crossed his arms over his chest and huffed a little. “If I were to abandon the shop, that would leave two wand makers to support the entire country.”

                Flinching away from Roman’s irritated tone, Virgil looked at the ground, “Sorry. I was just –”

                “No, I’m sorry,” Roman said, waving his hands in the air dismissively. “I’m… really tired. I’m… so, _so_ tired…”

                Pulling up his legs so he could cross them, Virgil made a face. “Not sleepin’ so hot, Princey?”

                Letting out a long, hysterical peel of giggles, Roman bent over double and shook his head. “Ha! _No_! I haven’t slept… in _three days_!”

                Virgil frowned. “Three...” He paused, then his eyes went wide. “Dude, the potion has kept you awake _that_ long?”

                After another half-minute of near-hysteric laughter, Roman gathered his wits and caught his breath. “I’m _so_ damn tired, Virgil…”

                “Yeah. Okay. C’mon,” Virgil slid off his rock and grabbed Roman’s arm – which, much to Virgil appreciation, was firm and muscular. “We’re getting you fixed.”

                While Virgil dragged him up the stairs, Roman put up a little fight. “Woah, woah… what do you mean by ‘fixed?’ You’re… you’re not going to experiment on me, are you?” He shuddered, and Virgil glared at him. “Because… if _you_ do the experimenting, I might die…”

                “You know, it’s when you say shit like that… it really makes me not want to like you,” Virgil muttered as he towed Roman along the abandoned hallways of Ilvermorny’s eastern wing. Roman didn’t comment on that, but Virgil let that tension linger in the air. He was displeased, and Roman needed to know it.

                After a minute, Roman tugged his arm free from Virgil’s grip, but continued to walk alongside him as they trekked through the halls. “I don’t mean to say you’re a crazy potion maker… or that you’re bad at it… you’re just… not the best.”

                Virgil snorted. “Gee, thanks.”

                “Easy, Virgil… I didn’t mean to offend,” Roman sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “I’m just… really out of it.”

                Shoving his hands into the pockets of his well-worn robes, Virgil gave Roman a smirk over his shoulder. “I think I know the cure.”

                Roman’s footsteps faltered, and Virgil swore he saw his face pale as he asked, “Is it… is it something _you_ brewed?”

                Virgil rolled his eyes and kept walking. “I _just_ told you I’m not going to experiment on you… just keep up, and you’ll be fine.”

                Not bothering to shoot back another complaint – he was probably too tired to come up with a real insult – Roman was quick to jump back into gear, following close at Virgil’s heels as they wound through Ilvermorny.

                Poisoned fathers, pushes in the stairwell… the attacks were far from over. But where did it end? It didn’t seem like the MACUSA had any intention of jumping to their rescue… at least, not yet. Some sort of lingering discomfort lingered in the air in the students around Virgil when he passed. Maybe it was his height… maybe it was the rumors that seemed to hover in the air when he passed by, tall and silent. They knew the stories… the tales of murder and attacks. Secrets and lies. He could only imagine what went through people’s heads… and his father had it worse.

                Patton had to _listen_ to all of those accusations with a straight face, not reacting to any of the theories that came swinging his way. Virgil admired his strength… but he knew better than anyone that Patton had his limits. He deserved respite… and peace of mind. They _all_ deserved it, after what they’d been through.

                Even as this thought weighed heavily on Virgil’s shoulders, he pushed open the door to Logan’s classroom, waving Roman inside. Rows of empty desks lined the room, and sunlight filtered through the stale, dusty air as they stepped inside.

Logan was at the head of the room, waving hovering pieces of chalk out of the way so he could write something down on the old, dusty chalkboard. It was some sort of long, complex equation by the looks of it… the beginnings of a new spell? Or maybe a potion? Or maybe he was dabbling in arithmancy again. Virgil didn’t really have the mind to ask.

                “Dad,” he said softly, watching the way Logan pivoted and adjusted his glasses to see him. Virgil gave him an awkward salute. “Hey.”

                “Virgil,” Logan smiled a bit, only to lose the smile when he saw Roman. “And Mr. Prince. What brings you to my classroom?”

                “Funny story,” Roman laughed and swayed from side to side. “You know that potion that woke you up? It was… well… I – I mean, _we…_ well…”

                Logan arched an eyebrow, looking to Virgil. “I hope you aren’t implying that you drank the potion as a childish bet…”

                “No!” Virgil said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender.

                Logan’s gaze was sharp as it slid back to Roman. “Then you drank it of your own volition?”

                “Only to prove it worked!” Roman squeaked as he visibly shrank away from Logan’s stare. “See, we didn’t want to use it on you if it didn’t work... so, we needed a guinea pig!”

                Virgil stepped forward, trying to get that stony, irritated look off his father’s face. “It worked. I mean, obviously it worked… you’re here. But, like… I didn’t want to give you a potion if it might’ve… I dunno. Made things worse?”

                Logan took a startled, alarmed step back. “Then you…” he looked to Roman with those wide, terrified eyes. “You _drank_ the potion… without knowing what it would do to you?”

                Roman shrugged helplessly. “Well… we had a vague idea of what it’d do.”

                “It could have gone wrong!” Logan shouted, throwing his chalk to the side as he marched up to Roman and looked him up and down. He took Roman’s face, turning it from side to side and looking at his ears, mouth and eyes… maybe he was searching for something. Maybe to see if Roman had a purple tongue or blood in his ears. Roman didn’t struggle, surprisingly… he let the investigation continue until Logan grumbled an unhappy, “So many things could go wrong in potions…”

                Virgil leaned his hip against a desk and gave Roman an amused look. “Yeah, but the only thing wrong with him is the fact he can’t sleep.”

                Once Logan was done poking his face, Roman licked his lips and muttered, “I am _very_ alert, though. That’s nice, I guess.”

                Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, but returned to the front of the room without much haste. “Well… given the effect your potion had on me, it seems the effects are, in the grand scheme of things, temporary.”

                Roman heaved a dramatic sigh. “Is that the Professorial way of saying ‘wait it out?’”

                Logan gave him a look. “No, Mr. Prince. I’m saying that because your potion was an original idea, it’s risky to attempt a ‘cure,’ as it were, without further understanding of the effects.”

                “Dad,” Virgil said softly, gaining his father’s attention along with a curious glimmer in his eye. Virgil gave him a small mile. “Roman helped us out… I think we owe him the favor.”

                Roman raised his hand and added, “And I would _very much_ appreciate the chance to sleep.”

                Virgil swore he could see Logan’s lips twitch up in a smile, but Logan quickly turned his back, digging through a shelf of alchemical ingredients behind his desk. He pulled out several vials, some of them tinged in different colors as he lined them up on his desk. Seven in total… Virgil glanced at Roman, expecting some recognition in his eyes, but he was seemingly in the dark as he gave the vials a suspicious glance.

                Logan didn’t speak as he took a crystal glass and set it next to the vials. He poured half a glass of the pale, pink liquid. A few drops of green… a fair splash of blue. Several dozen drops of red. The liquid was nearly breaking the surface of the glass, hardly a drop away from spilling over the edge. Logan gestured to the glass with an air of finality.

                “There you are, Mr. Prince,” he said calmly as he capped the last vial. “Your cure.”

                Roman quirked an eyebrow. “I just… drink it. And I’ll be able to sleep?”

                “I should hope so,” Logan said thoughtfully. “After reading through the procedures the school nurse went through on my account, I can only assume the potion you made was intensely strong. Which is why the effects are lasting so long.” He replaced the potion vials on the shelf and nodded toward the glass expectantly. “This _should_ do the trick.”

                Still, Roman hesitated. He glanced at Virgil with a shaky smile. “You wouldn’t want to… take a taste-test, would you?”

                Virgil snorted. “No way, man. It’s all you.”

                Swallowing thickly, Roman eyed the glass like a creature that was ready to bite him. After a few seconds of steeling his determination, Roman took up the glass, held it high and said, “Bottoms up!” before tipping his head back and taking a long, hearty drink.

                Virgil watched as Roman downed half the crystal goblet before stopping to take a breath. His face was a little flushed, and he let out a sigh of relief… but he didn’t look much different. “How ya feelin’, Princey?”

                Roman pursed his lips and tilted the glass, looking at the contents curiously. “Not… really different. I still feel alert. And tired… but alert.” He lifted his head to give Logan a sad look. “Maybe the effects were stronger than you thought, Professor.”

                “Oh no,” Logan assured him with a smile. Virgil gave him a look as Logan adjusted his glasses knowingly. “I know what I’m doing.”

                “Why not just give him the essence of jarren root?” Virgil asked irritably, ignoring Roman’s sputtering refusal. “This _obviously_ isn’t working.”

                Logan gave him an interested look. “Isn’t it?”

                Narrowing his eyes, Virgil barely had a chance to brace himself as Roman swayed and stumbled into him. Catching himself against Logan’s desk, Virgil threw an arm around Roman’s waist as Roman dropped the crystal goblet on the ground. It shattered instantly, spilling the remaining tonic on the marble floors as Logan stepped back to avoid the broken glass.

                “Jesus fucking – Roman!” Virgil grunted as he tried to keep him upright, but Roman only giggled.

                “That’s me!” Roman laughed exuberantly while Logan waved his wand at the glass, reforming the container with magic. Roman continued to giggle as Virgil set him on the floor. “I’m Roman!”

                Logan set the fixed goblet on his desk. “And how do you feel, Mr. Prince?”

                “Just fantastic, Professor,” Roman smiled, still having a hint of laughter in his voice. He pivoted to see Virgil, and immediately started to laugh again. “Virgil! Virgil, you _handsome, handsome man!_ ” He threw his arms around Virgil’s leg and held tight, whispering a scandalous, “I _got_ you…” as he giggled and slid along the floor.

                Virgil felt his face flush at the praise, but glanced up at Logan with an expression of pure confusion. “What… what the fuck?”

                “Language, Virgil, please.” Logan gave him a sharp look before indicating to Roman. “That tonic’s original purpose is to help the drinker relax… adding in a strong depressant along _with_ that effect often results in –”

                The _thud_ of Roman’s head on the ground interrupted him, and they both looked down to see Roman asleep and sprawled on the floor, his arms still slung around Virgil’s ankles as he started to snore. Logan spread his hands with a satisfied smile.

                “There. Problem solved.” Waving a hand to the chalkboard, Logan started to gather up papers while the erasers floated and started to erase whatever random equation he’d left on the board. “Though I was curious about the potion you made… I would like to see your notes on it later. It should be tested more thoroughly next time.”

                “Yeah, great, awesome… but…” Virgil glanced down at the floor, watching the way Roman continued to sleep like a rock on his feet. He glanced back at his father. “What are we supposed to do about him?”

                Logan paused his paper shuffling to give Roman’s limp body a strange look. “Ah… I seem to have… overlooked that.”

                Virgil blinked slowly, giving his father a tired, unimpressed look. “Dad. What are we supposed to do with him?”

                Adjusting his glasses formally, Logan waved away Virgil’s concern. “I’ll send for the head of Thunderbird house. They may want us to send him to the nurse’s wing…”

                Virgil made a face. “They _might_ want us to… why wouldn’t they want him back in the dorms?”

                Walking down the aisle between the empty desks, Logan turned to give Virgil a knowing smile over his shoulder. “Oh, Virgil… over the years I’ve been teaching here, I’ve learned that there are very few people that can handle Roman Prince.”

+++++

_Dear Virgil,_

_It’s good to know that all three of you made it to Ilvermorny without any problems! I’m a little confused about your letter, though. You wrote about a student that you’re in class with (Roman Price was the name you wrote down, but I might be misreading it) and you seemed pretty upset about him. Upset enough to tear the paper (unless that was Nyx)._

_If you’d like to vent a little about this troubling classmate, let me know! I’m always happy to listen, even if we’re across the continent from each other. I’m sure it’ll be a while before this letter gets to you, but just know that I’m in your corner and I wish you the best in your school year!_

_Give my love to Patton and Logan,_

_Emile_

_P.S. – I gave Nyx a treat while she was here. I hope that’s okay!_

                Virgil flipped the letter over in his hands, smiling at the way Uncle Emile had let Nyx step in some paint and leave little raven-prints on the back of the letter. She liked to be included. The envelope had been sealed with a cartoon sticker, and though Virgil felt a little old for the gesture, it was appreciated all the same.

                The only thing that set him on edge was the statement about Roman… it was true, when he wrote the letter, he’d been upset with Roman and offended that Roman didn’t remember him. But… that had all been cleared up in the week and a half it took Uncle Emile to reply to his hastily sent letter. Now, as he lay back on his bed in the Puckwedgie dorm holding the letter aloft, Virgil had to smile at the miscommunication.

                “This is so _dumb_!” Roman whined where he was sprawled out on the floor. His No-Maj Studies textbook lay open in front of him, but he’d tossed it aside in a fit of confusion. “Why are No-Maj’s so _stupid_?”

                “Hey. Watch it, Princey,” Virgil glared at him, only half-serious in his offense. “Half my family are No-Maj’s. Plus, you aren’t even supposed to be in the Puckwedgie dorms. I could kick you out, if I wanted.”

                “No!” Roman cried, skittering across the floor to grab Virgil’s ankle where it dangled off the bed. “Please, no! I need to understand this. I _need_ to get good marks on this test! My dad will rain down his fiery wrath if I don’t!”

                Wiggling his foot out of Roman’s grasp, Virgil sat up and set his letter from Uncle Emile aside. Nyx was happily perched on the headboard of one of the many empty beds, watching Roman with a keen, sharp eye as he laid back on the floor and groaned dramatically.

                “I’m never going to get this…”

                Virgil rolled his eyes. “Come on, you know that’s not true. You’re like… the Golden Boy of Ilvermorny.”

                “With _magic_ , sure! But No-Maj studies is just so… so…” Roman waved his hand awkwardly, trying to come up with an excuse for his ineptitude. In the end, he heaved another sigh and flopped against the carpeted floor. “Forget it. Bury me in the school garden. Tell my father I was carried away by a banshee.”

                “Huh… that _does_ sound tempting…” Virgil murmured. “But I’m gonna pass.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Virgil got up and shuffled over to where Roman had deposited his book. He tilted his head to get a look at the page… which was simply a picture of an old flip-phone. Virgil bit back a smile. “What chapter are you stuck on? I’ll help.”

                Roman sat up abruptly, pointing at the page and grumbling, “Buttons.”

                Virgil arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

                Roman threw his hands into the air. “It has _so many buttons!_ ” He sounded irrationally upset, and Virgil tried his damnedest to hold back a laugh at his expense. Roman’s face was red with anger when he shouted, “This one as a little picture on it… but it’s also has a number on it! How can you even keep track?”

                Virgil shrugged, glancing toward the window of the dorm tiredly; the sun was setting, it would seem. Late, late, late… Roman would have to go back to his own dorm soon. Something Virgil’s chest deflated at that. It wasn’t that he was desperate for Roman to _stay_ … no, he was just desperate to have human interaction. Spending time with his fathers was one thing, but friendship was a rarity for Virgil Sanders. Some part of him, a little, shy part of him, wanted to hold onto Roman and never let go.

                Shaking that thought away, Virgil rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, watching the way Roman sighed and closed his eyes. Laid out on the floor, he almost looked like a renaissance painting. The warm reds and golds of the setting sun set him in an odd light, highlighting the crown of his curls and lining his silhouette with light. A young man, distressed and in repose… god, it was unfair how handsome he was.

                “Doesn’t that get tiring?” Virgil said before he could stop himself. Roman turned to look at him, confused, and Virgil bit his tongue. Roman smiled curiously.

                “Does… _what_ get tiring?”

                “I dunno,” Virgil floundered, struggling for words. He shrugged again. “Just… lookin’ like that.”

                Roman snorted and sat up on his elbows a bit. “Looking like what?”

                _Like a Greek god_ , Virgil wanted to say. But he didn’t. That would be the worst thing he could do in this situation. Would that be friendship napalm at this point? Who was he kidding… of _course_ it would be. Roman could flirt all he wanted. Roman was an _expert_ at flirting. Virgil was a flirting virgin. He had no idea what to do in this situation… except for the crap that he’d read in books. That wasn’t super helpful.

                When Virgil opened his mouth to speak, the sound of shattering of glass rang through the room. Virgil ducked in cover, rolling across the floor as Roman shouted in alarm. Virgil’s mind raced; the window was broken. A mistake… or a side effect of the curse? Neither option sounded nice.

                Pressure… hot. Warmth and weight. Virgil stiffened. Roman was on top of him. Hard-pressing him to the old-fashioned Ilvermorny rugs.

                Letting out a long, disbelieving breath, Virgil raised his eyebrows. “Watcha doin’ there, Princey?”

                The world shifted and spiraled as Roman pushed himself up onto his hands, looming over Virgil with wide, spooked eyes. “Protecting you,” he said, as if that explained everything.

                Virgil almost laughed. “Protecting me? What, do you think I’m really scared if broken glass?”

                Still startled, Roman didn’t move from where he was hovering over Virgil. “The _curse!_ ” Standing up, Roman grabbed Virgil’s hands and yanked him up onto his feet; this was quite an accomplishment considering how short he was. Roman glanced at the floor, eyes darting around the room as he searched for the glass that had broken. “Aha!” he shouted, pointing to the shards of the broken window that were littering the floor at the head of Virgil’s bed. “The culprit!”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “Easy there, Ace Detective… I don’t think the window broke itself.”

                “Curse,” Roman breathed, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “ _Curse_.”

                “Hey,” Virgil said sternly, “I’m not stranger to paranoia, but I really don’t think this was the curse.”

                Walking toward the broken window, Virgil found the cause: a small, smooth river rock. Nearly the size of a fist. When he stooped to pick it up, he paused… how could it have gotten to the top floor of the Puckwedgie tower? Leaning toward the window, Virgil glanced at the air above Ilvermorny. There were no students flying by on brooms… no Quidditch practice that he could see.

                No one could have thrown that stone. So… how did a river rock end up through their window?

                Virgil felt it. A change… a shift in the atmosphere of the room. He reached for something… anything that could keep him from being pulled or pushed away. Roman was right. It burned… the thought made Virgil tremble… _Roman was right._

                The push was startling at the very least. It was more of a jab. The push of fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. The tenseness of his muscles burning as he was jolted forward through open air.

                Right through that broken window.

                “Virgil!” Roman shouted, his voice sharp and terrified as he lurched forward, grabbing for him. Virgil twisted, reaching back for Roman before he could careen over the edge of the windowsill. Roman gripped his arm tight, yanking him forcefully back toward the middle of the room. They tripped, stumbled, and fell into one another on the rug, a tangle of limbs and school robes. Holding him close, Roman pulled Virgil against his chest and shakily breathed. “Got you… I’ve got you.”

                Virgil didn’t have the heart to pull away. For the second time, Roman was holding him. Their bodies pressed to the floor, hard and restless as they gripped each other. Fear. Anxiety. It coursed through the air, breaking whatever serenity had been cultivated earlier. No, there was no rest here. Not for them. The second time being held… second time nearly killed… second time saved by Roman’s hand.

                Roman mumbled something, his voice breaking halfway through the statement. Virgil twitched in his arms, still unable to tear himself away. “What?” He asked, gaining no response. He laid still. He waited. Roman didn’t move. He just held him, pressing their chests together as their hearts slowed from their panicked tempo into something resembling calm. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

                “I _hate_ this,” Roman growled where his hands were fisted in the fabric of Virgil’s jumper. “I didn’t even see it. I didn’t… I couldn’t even _see_ what it was.”

                “No one can,” Virgil breathed, his voice hot against the crown of Roman’s curly hair. He shifted his legs finding a way for his thigh to rest between Roman’s legs without pinning the smaller man uncomfortably. “I’m… I’m sick of this.”

                “You can say that again.”

                “I’m sick of this,” Virgil repeated slyly.

                Without warning, Roman laughed and pushed Virgil away, sending him rolling across the floor, away from the glass. Virgil echoed the laugh, feeling hysterical fear and genuine excitement course through his blood in equal parts. Was he scared? Was he happy that Roman was laughing? He wasn’t sure… it was a mess. _He_ was a mess. Oh, who was he kidding?

                His entire life was a mess. A curse that followed him. Being sealed away in his farmhouse for years. It spelled out nothing but nonsense. And now… now he was dragging other people into the madness. His father and Roman… how long was it until there was lasting damage? What happened if the curse reached out… and took something that could never be given back?

                What if it took Roman Price? Dragging _him_ through a twelve-story window and hurling him to the cold, hard ground below? What if it took his father? Or worse… what if it took _both_ of them? Alone, alone, alone… just like before. Before they’d adopted him. Before he’d known what he was.

                Sitting up ramrod straight, Virgil gave Roman a sidelong look; he was using his wand to gather the glass in a small pile, keen on fixing the window. Genuine and caring… he’d laughed honestly. He smiled earnestly. Was friendship enough to keep him close? Could a fragile companionship last the test of a rickety curse?

                “Hey, uh,” Virgil started as he stood up. Roman had already fixed the window and was twirling his wand between his fingers with a tired expression. Virgil looked away. “You… you should probably leave.”

                Roman stiffened, looking affronted by the suggestion. Had Virgil said something wrong? He was just trying to keep Roman’s safety in mind. If the curse couldn’t reach Virgil, then surely… anyone was fair game.

                “You... you want me to leave,” Roman said, as if the statement didn’t taste right on his tongue. Virgil shrugged, and Roman reeled back, waving his arms in the air dramatically as he argued. “ _Why_? Why on earth would you want to be alone when this… this…! Agh!” Roman walked around the room in short, clipped steps, hopping over the textbooks that had been left on the floor. Virgil hardly gave them a sparing glance before Roman was speaking again. “Morrigan’s ghost, you are _impossible!”_

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. That comment was meant to bait him into an argument… unfortunately, Virgil didn’t have the energy to fight. “Well, geez… sorry.”

                “No!” Roman shouted from the other side of the room. He pointed his wand at Virgil, as if ready for a duel. Virgil didn’t even flinch. Roman lowered his wand with a huff. “It’s… you’re my friend, Virgil! The only _real_ friend I have! And you want me to just… leave you? With this curse?” He looked dejected as he shook his head. “Is that really the kind of friend you think I am?”

                Virgil made a face; his only _real_ friend? What did that mean? Did he mean that Virgil was the only person he could flirt with and get away with it? Did he mean that Virgil wasn’t interesting enough to be a challenge? Or was his friendship simply a given because Virgil was all alone?

                “You have tons of friends,” Virgil shrugged as he started to pick up the books on the floor. Roman watched him do this, almost like he wasn’t sure where he fit in the room anymore. “Wouldn’t... wouldn’t everything be easier for you if you just… I dunno… _stopped_ being friends with me until all this crap is figured out?”

                “It’s been five years,” Roman said, startling Virgil where he stood with three thick books nestled in his arms. Roman walked toward him, and Virgil found himself backing up on instinct. The back of his knees hit a mattress, and he fell back onto the bed as Roman stood over him, cross and hurt. “Five years. And this curse hasn’t gone away. How many more years do you want me to wait?”

                Virgil shook his head and set the books aside. “Roman –”

                “How _long_ ,” Roman pressed as he stepped closer. The sun through the window caught in his hair, giving him a honey-gold glow that reflected badly in his eyes. He looked like Icarus before the fall. The pain before the burn. The jolt of fear before the fall. “How long do you want me to wait?”

                There was sincerity there. So much so, it nearly burned to meet his eye. Virgil ducked his chin and watched the covers of the textbooks. “You’re being overdramatic.”

                “I don’t think so,” Roman said softly. Earnestly. Virgil didn’t meet his eye, and Roman let out another sigh. “Why are you like this?”

                Irritated by that little barb, Virgil twitched where he sat on the bed. “This is… just who I am, Princey. Sorry, but… I’m just like this.”

                There was a pause, and neither of them moved. Roman stood over him, hands clenching and unclenching as he fought some sort of inner-turmoil. But it didn’t matter; Virgil was tired. Tired of being afraid. Tired of worrying for the safety of his loved ones. Tired of… everything. That sparked a thought… a dark, discomforting thought that lingered with sticky, troubling emotions.

                What would happen if Virgil gave in? Would it be so terrible if he just… let the curse go its course? Maybe that would be better. If the curse took Virgil, then the danger – hopefully – would pass. Everyone would be safe. Patton, Logan… and Roman. No one else had to be hurt. No one else had to die.

                No one but Virgil.

                “Fine,” Roman said, breaking Virgil away from his thoughts. He lifted his head, watching Roman’s retreating back as he went to the door. His hand lingered on the doorknob, his brows knit together and face set in a deep frown. “You’re… you’re sure you’ll be okay on your own?” He asked, his voice pitched toward hope in a way that made Virgil feel almost shameful. He glanced at Virgil over his shoulder, and Virgil couldn’t shy away from those blue eyes. “You’re sure?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil breathed, his voice hoarse as if he were tired from crying. Constricted with emotion… feelings, feelings, and where to put them. Virgil swallowed thickly and nodded. “I’m gonna be fine.”

                Roman didn’t say anything to that. He simply opened the door and disappeared down the stairwell. That left Virgil on his own. Sitting in the burning light of a weeping sunset. It hit him with gold on his skin, light in his eyes, fire in his chest… he looked out the newly-repaired window and wished that the curse would reappear. On his own, no one would stop the curse from killing him.

                He could end it all. All the fear, all the trouble… he could do it. All he had to do was surrender.

+++++

                Virgil’s hands hurt. He’d waited in front of the window for hours. Standing motionless and trembling as he waited for the inevitable push. His hands stayed clenched, his fingernails biting into his palms as he shook with anxiety and excitement. But it never came.

                So, now he had to push those thoughts from his mind as he looked down at the crescent-shaped divots in his palms. There had been blood. And a fair amount of pain. But he couldn’t think of it… not when he stood in front of his parents’ door. Maybe… maybe he’d been to rash. He needed to talk to them. To smooth out this frantic worry that was knotting his stomach.

                He was about to knock… when he heard Logan shout: “We’ve been _over_ this, Patton!”

                And then Patton’s voice, shuttering but pressing: “The danger never went away, Logan! It… it isn’t safe! We… we should go home. We should –”

                “We _can’t_.” Logan’s voice sounded hollow and unlike himself, and Virgil leaned away from the door, half afraid of what he might hear. “We can’t go, Patton. For the sake of Virgil’s future. He needs these courses if he will ever advance. He needs –“

                “He won’t _have_ a future if he gets killed by this curse!” Patton shouted, his voice cracking halfway through the statement. Logan was quiet. Virgil took a step back from the door. There was the sound of movement, followed by Patton’s muffled, “ _Damn it.”_ Another pause, and then: “Get the door.”

                Virgil winced; Patton knew he was there. Maybe if he was fast, he could get away. He hardly managed a half-step to the right when the door swung open to reveal a disheveled and tired Logan.

                “Virgil,” he said softly. So softly, it didn’t match his crusty and angry outward appearance. His glasses hung low on his face, and the silver in is hair seemed more apparent as he sighed. “Something wrong, son?”

                Virgil twitched. “No,” he lied. He didn’t want to be near his parents when they were arguing. He needed to leave. To breathe. To push out of this awkward place and rid every one of the tension. He could do it. He knew how.

                “Virgil Angelica Sanders,” Patton hissed from inside the room. Virgil winced. Middle names were never good. “Get in here, young man.”

                Logan quirked an eyebrow at the order but stepped aside so Virgil could shuffle into the room. He knew why was in trouble. Patton knew, too. Logan, however, was peacefully in the dark as he shut the door and went to sit at his desk. Virgil focused on the rug. He didn’t need to look up to know Patton was glaring at him. He could feel it. The heat on his face and the burn of shame… it was all there. Patton might as well be holding a gun to his head.

                “Virgil, I…” Patton started, stopped, and tried again. “You are… as my son, you…” Again, another pause. Virgil chanced a small glance at him, catching the glimmer of unshed tears behind Patton’s thick glasses. He banished his eyes back to the floor. “You think… it would be better if this curse took you away?”

                At his desk, Logan shifted and fixed Virgil with a hard stare. “ _What?_ ”

                It wasn’t a question. Virgil didn’t speak.

                “I’d… I’d fall apart if you disappeared,” Patton breathed, his words finally breaking through the hard shell of Virgil’s feigned ignorance. “I wouldn’t… wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you…”

                “Dad,” Virgil interrupted. He didn’t want to hear the rest. He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. So tired, so tired… not even the curse would change that. “Look… I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean –”

                “Didn’t mean to what?” Patton asked, his voice sharp and accusing as he stood on the far side of the room. Hands clenched. Eyes open wide. Stance uninviting. Virgil rarely saw him like this… so unapproachable. So ready to fight. It wasn’t his father. It was panic and paranoia wearing his father like a mask. Patton let out a shivery sigh. “Don’t think like that at me, young man. I’m not panicked… I’m _furious_ that you would even consider this course of action.”

                Shaking his head, Virgil looked everywhere but at his parents. “I wasn’t going to –”

                “Weren’t you?” Patton snapped as he marched forward to poke Virgil in the chest angrily. It was almost comical. Virgil stood head and shoulders taller than him… and yet, Patton still made him feel so small. “You were going to just… hand yourself over to this ‘curse,’ and you expected us to be fine with this?”

                Logan didn’t step in. He simply watched, waiting for Virgil’s reply. It was a soft and sorry, “You weren’t… supposed to find out about it.”

                Finally, Logan spoke. “So… you were planning on keeping it a secret.”

                “Oh! What a wonderful plan!” Patton laughed, but it was more hysterical than anything. His hands shook as he raked them through his hair. “When… _when_ would we have found out about it? When we found you dead on the ground? Or when you were possessed by a hex?” His eyes were sharp and words bitter as he turned to meet Virgil’s eye. “How are we supposed to feel when our son is contemplating _death_ as his future goal?”

                Virgil felt irritation bubble up in his chest as he stiffened. “I just wanted –”

                “What?” Patton yelled, his arms waving in the air as he stepped away. “It’s all about _you,_ Virgil. All about _you_ and what _you_ wanted.” Virgil shrunk in on himself. His father didn’t act this way. Patton wasn’t like this. But there he was, ranting and raving as Logan watched on, uncharacteristically quiet. Patton’s hand hit the desk as he turned to glare at Virgil. “You know what? Go ahead.”

                Virgil blinked hard. “W-what?”

                “Go. Ahead.” Patton waved him out the door with a watery, shivering smile. “Let the curse have you.”

                Logan didn’t move from his spot as he murmured, “Patton…”

                “No!” Patton said shakily. “You want to give yourself up? Go right ahead.” Virgil’s heart broke when Patton met his eye, level and honest. “Good riddance.”

+++++

                Virgil bolted upright, eyes wet with tears and breathing stuttering as he gripped the blankets beneath him. He’d fallen asleep. When had that happened? He glanced at the window. It was still fixed. The textbooks were still piled on the bed next to his.

                The conversation with his fathers… the entire thing… it was a dream.

                Even so, Virgil’s panic didn’t subside. His chest felt tight. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wanted safety. He wanted shelter. He wanted… he didn’t know what. Something. _Something_.

                Throwing off the blankets, Virgil shook as he pushed his feet into his shoes and snuck down the stairwell of Puckwudgie tower. If he was caught outside his dorm, he’d be in trouble. He’d be punished. But at this point, he couldn’t care less.

                He wanted his parents.

                Stealing his way through the halls, Virgil quickly picked his way around the school in the dark. Paintings slept and lamps burned low as he crept to the teachers’ dorms. Still shivering, still gasping, he snuck through the swinging doors and too the familiar door that echoed: _safety_.

                He didn’t even have to knock.

                The door swung open to meet him, and Patton was already pulling him into a hug.

                “Oh my little baby,” Patton breathed as he passed a hand through Virgil’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you… I’ve got you.”

                Virgil crumbled in his arms, letting out a strangled, desperate cry as he wrapped himself in Patton and held tight. Patton brought him inside. Set him down on the bed. Wiped his tears. Logan put an arm around his shoulders and comforted him. Patton kissed his hair. All things he loved… all things he knew would make him feel better. He could hear Logan’s voice, smooth and calm, telling him that he was alright. That nothing could harm him, here. And he believed it.

                Like a fool, he believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the ashes*
> 
> Oh... did you expect something soft and sweet?  
> Not yet, kiddos. Not yet.


	14. Breathless

                _Virgil,_

_Your fathers sent me a rather concerning letter the other day. They said you were going back down that ‘Dark Trail’ we helped you out of last year. If you need to come home for a few appointments, just let me know. I’m here to help in any way I can._

_All my love,_

_Emile_

                Pursing his lips, Virgil stuffed the short letter into the pocket of his school robes. He didn’t need to go home. He didn’t need another appointment. He just wanted the curse to be gone. That was all. He didn’t need a psychiatrist to know that.

                The library was slowly filling with people eager to cram for the upcoming O.W.L.S. tests. Virgil was anxious about those… he’d definitely fallen behind on written work. Maybe if he worked all night, he could memorize some of the history texts he’d missed. If he could do that, then –

                “Virgil!” Roman’s voice shot through the air like a bullet, breaking the tense silence in the library. Several people turned to glare at the source as Roman sauntered up to Virgil’s table and leaned his palms on the surface. He was smiling. That was good. After their little… disagreement… the other day, Virgil had wondered if Roman still liked him. Apparently, he did, and said: “Come to my quidditch game!”

                Virgil blinked. Quidditch? He wasn’t much of a sports fan. Plus, he needed to study. But… Roman had that look on his face. The ‘I really, really want something’ look. And Virgil wasn’t quite sure what to do with the feeling it gave him. Those wide, excited eyes… that warm, happy-go-lucky smile… it made Virgil nauseous. A little light-headed, even. Why did having a crush on Roman feel like the flu?

                “He _llo_?” Roman asked, waving his hand in front of Virgil’s eyes. Virgil swatted him away, and Roman simply laughed. “Good! Just checking to see if you were alive.”

                Virgil snorted and turned his face back down to his arithmancy textbook. “I’m alive… and busy. Sorry.”

                Roman hesitated for a moment but pressed the conversation further. “It’ll be _fun_.”

                “It’s quidditch,” Virgil said as he raked a hand through his hair and slouched over the table. “I’m not really a sports fan…”

                “But you’ll get to see _me!_ ” Roman announced happily. “The best chaser in the history of Ilvermorny!”

                “Big talk for a guy who trips over his own feet.” Virgil smirked when Roman made an offended, indignant noise, but didn’t leave his textbook. “Besides… with this… _curse_ ,” he said the word softly, “I don’t think I should go out to a game. It’ll probably try to throw a bludger at me.”

                “Or,” Roman said, tapping his fingers on the table. “You could have a great time seeing me in my uniform.”

                Tempting, definitely… seeing Roman all dolled up in quidditch gear? _That_ sounded enjoyable. But the tests… and the curse…

                “Too much could go wrong,” Virgil muttered.

                “There will be snacks,” Roman offered.

                “I have studying to do.”

                “And team flags! You could cheer for your own house if you want! I just,” he paused, cocked his head to the side to meet Virgil’s eye, and smiled. “I want you to come, Virgil. Cooping yourself up in that little tower isn’t going to save you.”

                Twitching in his seat, Virgil looked anywhere but at Roman. “B-but… the O.W.L.S. are almost –”

                Roman scoffed. “We can study for those later! Here.” He slapped a ticket stub on the table before bouncing away. “See you at the match!”

                “I didn’t say I was…!” Virgil let the words die on his tongue. People were staring at him, irritated by his little outburst. Shrinking in on himself, Virgil glanced at the ticket.

                An invitation… just to see him at the game? That sounded like something couples would do. Unless with was another friend thing that he didn’t quite understand. But, it didn’t seem like that terrible of an offer. A day without worrying about the curse? A day to let loose and just cheer for his friend? That seemed doable. Besides… he’d be surrounded by people.

                The curse couldn’t possibly harm him when he was surrounded by other students… could it?

+++++

                “… oh! And it’s supposed to be chilly outside today!” Patton warned as he wrapped Virgil’s striped Puckwudgie scarf around his face. His eyes glinted warmly behind his glasses, all smiles and excitement as he gave Virgil’s bundled-up appearance an appreciative look. “Oh, look at you! All ready to go to your first quidditch game!”

                After pulling the scarf down so he could speak Virgil shrugged. “It’s just a school match.”

                “Nonetheless,” Logan said from his desk where he was grading papers. “It’s an important school experience.” He gave Virgil a quick glance, and a smile broke his serious expression. “Patton… if you bundle him any tighter, you’ll smother the poor boy.”

                Taking a tiny step back, Patton giggled as he wrung his hands. “I know, I know… he’s excited, though! It’s making _me_ excited!”

                Virgil ducked his face back into his scarf. “It’s whatever, okay? I’m not… excited…”

                “You can’t lie to me, Virgil,” Patton said with a smile and a wink. Virgil rolled his eyes as Patton pinched his cheek. “We’ll be up in the faculty stands, so we can’t sit together… but we’ll wave to you!”

                Pressing a kiss to his fathers’ cheek, Virgil nodded. “Right. See you –"

                “Virgil,” said Logan quickly. Virgil paused mid-step to see Logan cross his arms over his chest. A _very_ fatherly look, if he said so. Logan quirked an eyebrow when Patton snickered. “If we don’t happen to find you after the match… I expect you to be back in your dorm by curfew.”

                Virgil made a face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

                Logan opened his mouth to suggest something, but Patton stepped on his foot harshly. Logan cursed in two languages while Patton waved Virgil away. “Go on, sweetheart! We’ll see you later! Have fun!”

                Shaking his head fondly, Virgil shoved his hands into the pockets of his winter coat and headed outside. Fall had arrived early, bringing a sharp chill to the air that made Virgil want to retreat back to the safety of his dorm. But… Roman was expecting him. Roman _wanted_ him to come. Their little spat in the Puckwudgie tower was still fresh in his mind… he didn’t want Roman to think they weren’t friends. He wanted to prove that he still cared. If that meant braving the chill, he’d do it.

                The trek to the quidditch fields wasn’t exactly short. It was at least a mile and a half, stretching through the trimmed, crackling grass as Virgil turned his shoulder to the wind. And Roman had to ride a _broom_ through that wind? Virgil suddenly had a new respect for quidditch players.

                The ticket-taker looked bored as she tore Virgil’s ticket and told him to “enjoy the show” as he shuffled into the arena. It was already packed with people. That wasn’t something Virgil really liked. Too many people, too many sounds, too many colors… curling in on himself, Virgil trudged toward the farthest stands possible. They weren’t desirable seats, but at least he wouldn’t be crowded.

                He took the stairs slowly, keeping an eye out for Roman as he glanced at the open air of the field. There were three open rows… but he was still a fair distance from everything. He needed to sit in the front if he wanted to see anything.

                Luckily, that meant Roman saw him from the grass, far below. Roman waved excitably, almost like he was surprised to see Virgil there. Virgil raised a hand to wave back, only to have Roman turn his back and talk to his teammates. He lowered his hand and tucked himself into his scarf.

It was cold. Roman had seen him. Did he have to stay for the whole game? What was the point? He wouldn’t see anything if he didn’t get closer… this was stupid. He had to study. After a minute of arguing with himself, Virgil stood up. He didn’t need to stay. This wasn’t his style, anyway. Turning to get out of the stands, Virgil startled when Roman flew up to the stands on his broom, smiling and warm as ever.

“Virgil!” He said, just as excited as earlier. The chasers’ uniform fit snug against him, along with the defensive padding. It made him look like a compact treat where he sat on that broom. Virgil almost wanted to pull him off, just to get the perfection away from him. Roman laughed when Virgil didn’t say anything. “You surprised me… what are you doing here?”

Virgil frowned. Was that a joke? “You _invited_ me. I came because you told me to.”

                A little affronted, Roman leaned back on his broom, adjusting his goggles atop his head. “Uh… no? Last week you told me to leave you alone… I’ve been giving you some distance.”

                “But,” Virgil started, only to jump when a whistle was blown. Roman glanced back over his shoulder, then looked to Virgil again.

                “Look, um… we’ll talk about this after the match.” Virgil almost disagreed, but Roman pulled his googles over his eyes and said, “Don’t leave, okay? Stay where people can see you.”

                And then he was gone.

                Virgil was frozen where he stood. Roman had felt it, too. The shift in the atmosphere. The fact that something wasn’t quite right. The curse was rearing its head, but… appearing as Roman? This was new. And not a good kind of new.

                But he was right… most of the attacks came at him when no one was looking. Most of them. But not all. What if a crowd wasn’t enough to ensure safety? Virgil sat down near a group of gossiping underclassmen. Maybe they could vouch for him. Maybe… just maybe… their presence could stave off the curse. For a little while, anyway.

                He sat like that for a while. Uneasy. Frightened. Jumping at every cheer and each announcement made by the score-keeper. He wasn’t even paying attention to the match. He didn’t see Roman. He glanced toward the faculty stands, trying to pick his fathers out of the crowd. But it was no use. They were too far to tell apart.

                Everything felt too tight. The world was crushing him. Air too heavy, life too large… Virgil tried to focus on what Uncle Emile had taught him. Breathe in for five counts, out for five. Slow down and focus on himself. A panic attack could be managed. He was going to be fine.

                Someone’s hand balled up the back of his winter coat, grabbing him tight as he stiffened where he sat. He was okay. There were people all around him. He was okay. The curse _shouldn’t_ be able to do anything. Even so, He was pulled to his feet by the force of _something_ that left a sick feeling in his stomach.

                People near him let out startled shouts. They saw it. They saw the way an invisible hand held his coat. They saw him being toted to the edge of the stands. And yet… and _yet_ , no one made a move to help him.

                Maybe they were scared. Maybe they thought it was a prank. Maybe they just didn’t care. Even so, Virgil kicked and fought the hold as he neared the ledge. He grabbed the railing, trying to hold himself in place. But the curse wouldn’t have that. He had a moment to catch his breath…

… and then he was flying through the air.

                He screamed. Or at least, it felt like he screamed as he twisted through the air. He had been up six stories. How long would it take to hit the ground? Time was going slow. The last few seconds before death. The ground rushing up to meet him. He thought of Roman. The confusion, the fear… and his parents. What would they say? What would they think?

                “Virgil!” Roman’s voice. Loud and clear. Virgil couldn’t see him. He wished he could. He wished he could’ve apologized. Wished he could’ve explained himself. Wish he could said one last thing to him. To his parents. To Uncle Emile.

His body jerked as someone – or something – caught him mid-air. He was yanked up forcefully by an unseen hand, dragged forward through the air at a shambling rate. He twisted, trying to see his savior… only to see a gray, roiling mass holding him up. He screamed and thrashed in the hold, only half-satisfied when he and the thing dropped to the ground and rolled across the quidditch field.

                His heart was pounding. His lungs burned for air. His neck ached from whiplash. And… he was alive. Saved by… whatever that thing was.

                “Virgil! Oh my god… Virgil! Say something!”

                Roman. Shouting? Maybe. Virgil turned his head, seeing Roman jump from his broom and rush toward him. Virgil blinked. Was this… the real Roman? Or the curse Roman? He frowned. What was the difference?

                Next to him, the sound of crackling caught his attention, and he winced away from the sound, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He turned to see what had saved him. The gray, writhing mass on the ground was… _shrinking_. After a moment, it looked less like a shapeless spirit and more like a human being. A few more seconds, and Logan was kneeling on the grass, gasping for breath.

                “Dad?” Virgil asked, only half-aware that he was speaking out loud. Logan lifted his eyes, meeting Virgil halfway as he trembled.

                “Virgil,” he gasped, looking more slightly delirious as he blinked sluggishly. “Are… are you alright?”

                Virgil took a breath, glancing up at Roman. Roman was just as surprised as he was. No spell he knew of could make someone look like that. Apparition wasn’t meant to be used that way… it could tear someone apart if used incorrectly. But Logan had done it. Logan had saved him.

                “Yeah,” Virgil finally managed to say. “I’m okay.”

                “Good,” Logan nodded, still looking dizzy as he repeated, “Good…”

                And then he collapsed face-first to the ground.

                “Dad!” Virgil shouted, scrambling up from the grass to shake his fathers’ shoulder. “Dad, are you okay? Dad!”

                Roman was trying to pull him away, saying some nonsense like ‘you’ll hurt yourself’ and ‘you’re bleeding’ as Virgil continued to shake his father’s limp shoulder. This wasn’t good. The two of them could’ve hit the ground much, _much_ harder. They could’ve died. Two birds with one stone.

                That… that would leave Patton all alone. Virgil froze. Patton had never been harmed. Patton was always on the outside. Patton was always the one watching. Always the one to comfort and console. Virgil felt sick; Patton couldn’t have done this. Could he? No… he couldn’t.

                “Virgil, for fucks’ sake!” Roman finally grabbed Virgil’s shoulders and dragged him away from Logan. School nurses and quidditch coaches placed Logan on a stretcher, keen on toting him away while Virgil sat on the ground, cold and shaking. Roman’s face filled his vision, and Virgil blinked when Roman frowned. “Can you hear me?”

                Virgil nodded numbly. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I can hear you.”

                Roman’s fingers – where had his quidditch gloves gone? – brushed over Virgil’s temple, and Virgil flinched when his skin burned at the touch. Roman’s fingers came away stained in red. Virgil swallowed thickly. Blood. He was bleeding. When had that happened?

                “Virgil,” said Roman calmly. “Look at me.” Virgil _was_ looking at him. Why was Roman talking to him like a crazy person who was about to jump? Roman was calm and level when he said, “You’re in shock. But it’s okay. It’s just a little scrape. You’re going to be okay.”

                “My dad,” Virgil sputtered, glancing at the edges of the quidditch field. Where had Logan gone? Was he safe? Was he being cared for? And where was Patton? Things weren’t right… he needed answers. “My dad…”

                “He’s okay,” Roman promised. That was a lie. Roman had no idea if Logan was okay. Still… a little lie went a long way for Virgil. In that moment, he felt a little, tiny weight lift from his shoulders. “Virgil? Did you hear me? He’s okay. Everything’s okay. Don’t cry. I promise, it’s okay.”

                Virgil blinked and made a face. Don’t cry? Why would he cry? Roman brushed a thumb over his cheek, wiping away wetness and… oh. Virgil _was_ crying. Was that shock? Could shock do that? It seemed like the world was quaking. His chest hurt so much, it felt like his heart would fall out of his ribcage. He was shaking apart, bit by bit. He swallowed thickly, finally seeing the tremble of Roman’s hands.

                He was scared, too. Virgil remembered his scream. He remembered the sound of his name on Roman’s lips, so loud, so horrified… did Roman assume the worst, too? Had he been watching? Had he seen the curse lift him up and toss him over the edge of the stands?

                “Roman,” Virgil gasped as teachers and school officials surrounded them. Principal Remulus was on the outskirts of the field, overseeing the nurses. Still, people pushed to get closer. They asked questions. Shouted things. People were running. So many voices… Virgil’s hands shook as he gripped Roman’s bicep. “Roman…”

                Roman hugged him. As if that could solve anything. As if that made the horrifying truth any better. As if that would push the curse away.

                As if there was any hope of escape.

+++++

                Roman held his hand, much to Virgil’s irritation. He wasn’t a baby. He could handle a few pokes and prods from a wand. But there Roman was, squeezing his hand and telling him he was very brave. Virgil frowned, glaring at the top of his thighs as the school nurse mended the gash in his forehead.

                “It might scar for a bit,” she said as she tucked her wand back into her pocket. Her fingers brushed the closed skin, and Virgil flinched away. She withdrew her hand with a sad smile. “It might pucker for a while, but… with time, it’ll fade.”

                “Good,” Roman said, answering for Virgil. He looked to Virgil and pat his hand comfortingly. “That’s good, right?”

                Virgil didn’t answer. Pieces of this endless puzzle were falling into place and he didn’t like the picture it presented. Patton was never subject to the curse. Patton was always there to comfort them in the end. But… this time, Patton hadn’t come to visit him or Logan. That didn’t bode well for his innocence.

                What was all of this? Magical Munchausen by proxy? Was Patton faking a curse? Was he doing this all for attention? Virgil shifted where he sat in the stiff waiting chairs of the infirmary. Roman squeezed his hand. It didn’t help him feel any better.

                All of it… starting with the well… it almost made sense. Patrice’s death was, in some manner, a neat bow on the tragedy of Patton’s past. It was a way to wipe her angry smudge off the map and start fresh. Getting rid of her _had_ gotten Patton attention. Though, not all of it was positive. Virgil stiffened; what if… what if he’d been the cause of _Jack’s_ death as well? How long had Patton been doing these things?

                How long had he been lying to all of them?

                “Virgil,” Roman said lowly. “You’re… makin’ a pretty scary face.”

                Swallowing thickly, Virgil stood from his chair and dragged Roman to the far side of the room. There, he shuffled them into a corner and whispered, “I know who’s doing all of this.”

                Roman’s gaze caught fire and he grabbed Virgil’s shoulders. For a moment, Virgil was scared that Roman would shake him… but he simply leaned close and said, “You’re sure? Absolutely sure?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil nodded, feeling his stomach twist as he thought of how many times Patton could’ve killed him. All those times he’d put them through hell… and all for what? Sympathy? The comfort of chaos? Virgil shook his head. “God… it makes so much fucking _sense_. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before…”

                Taking Virgil’s chin, Roman turned his face so their eyes met. “Virgil. Who did this? We need to report it to the MACUSA. Maybe… if you have even a shred of proof, we can –”

                “It’s my dad,” Virgil hissed, glancing around the quiet infirmary out of sheer paranoia. Patton could be there. Patton could be anywhere. No one knew where he was. He could be _everywhere_ for all Virgil knew.

                Roman, however, looked morbidly confused as he leaned back and murmured, “Logan?”

                “No, dumbass. _Patton_.” Virgil checked the area again – just in case – before he fervently whispered, “He’s never been hurt. He’s always been on the outside. He _could_ do it. He’s one hell of a wizard, and you know it.”

                “Your dad,” Roman said, as if he still needed convincing. “Patton Sanders. You honestly think he could set this curse?”

                “Munchausen’s by proxy. We learned about it in sociological phenomena, remember?”

                Roman made a face and put an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, steering him back to the waiting chairs. “You hit your head on the ground pretty hard… are you dizzy? Maybe you should sit down.”

                “No!” Virgil shouted, shoving away Roman’s hand. “How do I know you’re not part of this? You… you gave me a ticket! Or… or someone who looked like you did. What if you’re part of the curse?”

                Roman looked panicked as he held his hands out in surrender. “H-hey! Calm down! Lower your voice and we can talk this out –”

                Virgil pulled his wand out of his pocket pointing it at Roman as his hand shook with adrenaline and fear. Fear flickered through Roman’s eyes, immediately followed by hurt. Virgil back away shakily, sparing Logan’s unconscious form a glance before he spat, “Don’t follow me!”

                Then, he darted out of the infirmary, pushing past the nurses and school faculty that waited in the halls. As he ran, he saw a group of strangers coming down the hall in straight for him. He knew those crisp, clean uniforms and coats. The matching hats and wands. The MACUSA detectives were back in Ilvermorny. That didn’t matter… he wasn’t stopping for anything.

                Who knew what Patton would try to pull next?

                “Virgil!” A voice rang through his madly thudding heart and pounding feet. The familiarity made him freeze. It was Patton. He was surrounded by the MACUSA. Standing in the middle of them like a claimed prisoner. That’s when he saw them.

                Handcuffs clipped to Patton’s thin wrists. He looked terrified. The MACUSA pulled out their wands. All of them pointed at Virgil. Horrified and more than a little confused, Virgil came to a stuttering stop. One of the detectives stepped forward.

                “Don’t do anything rash, son. We just want to talk.”

                Virgil’s gaze flickered over to Patton. “You know… you know he’s behind this?” Patton’s expression scrunched up as he read Virgil’s thoughts. “Are you… are you going to take him away?”

                The detective paused, giving Virgil a considering look. “I’m Agent Kenway. An Auror sent by the MACUSA Investigations Department. Your father used an illegal, unregistered spell.”

                Virgil couldn’t digest all of this. This was too much too fast. The investigation department. Illegal spells. Unregistered. Did that mean Patton really _was_ behind all of this?

                “No!” Patton cried, trying to launch forward and reach Virgil. Several Aurors grabbed him and held him back, each one telling him that force would be used if necessary. Patton didn’t listen. His eyes were wide and full of tears as he screamed, “Virgil, I used that spell to _save you_! I would never hurt you, sweetheart! You’re my life! You’re my _son!_ ”

                “Quiet!” Kenway shouted, brandishing his wand like a threatening cattle prod. Patton collapsed to his knees in a fear of frightened tears, pulling a few startled Aurors with him. He turned back to Virgil and motioned for him to follow. “Don’t make this difficult. We just have a few questions.”

                Virgil didn’t have a choice. He glanced back toward the infirmary, seeing Roman waiting by those large, open doors. He couldn’t go back. So he turned his back on Roman and followed Agent Kenway down the hall. Patton was pulled to his feet and dragged along with the agents, all while he blubbered about his innocence.

                “You don’t understand!” He sobbed as he stumbled forward. “My… Virgil was going to fall! Hit the ground! I couldn’t let that h-happen!” He stopped to catch his breath, his lungs stuttering when an Auror bumped into him. “I… I couldn’t let him fall. I didn’t think… I… I didn’t think that this…!”

                “You used an illegal and highly dangerous method of transfiguration,” Angent Kenway said as he opened a door and ushered Patton and the other Aurors inside. “You are guilty until a jury of your peers decides otherwise. As for you,” he glanced at Virgil. “I’d like to have a little talk.”

                Before Virgil could follow his father and the Aurors into the room, Kenway shut the door and leaned back against it. He crossed his arms. He looked like a brick wall standing like that. Impenetrable and strong. Even though Virgil was a little taller than him, he felt small. Shrinking under that gaze.

                “So,” Kenway said, as if this were a calm conversation. “You seemed pretty startled back there.”

                “I’m a nervous person,” Virgil said, not quite trusting Kenway. “I’m always startled.”

                Kenway, to his credit, wasn’t convinced. “You were scared.”

                Virgil shrugged and glared at the marble floors. “I almost died a little while ago. Near-death experiences do that to you.”

                “You were scared,” Kenway emphasized, “Of your father.”

                Virgil hesitated; he didn’t have solid proof yet, just conjecture about Patton’s guilt. Was there anything he should say? Anything he could do? What if he was wrong? Patton could get sentenced to life in prison if he was wrong. Or worse, if he didn’t speak up… Patton could go free.

                Virgil fidgeted where he stood, and Kenway noticed. He cocked his head to the side, a show of innocent curiosity. “What can you tell me about him?”

                “My dad?” Virgil sputtered. “Uh… he’s…”

                What? What could he say? If Patton was behind the curse, then everything he knew was a lie. That would mean he knew _nothing_ of the man that had been teaching and raising him for the past seven years. Virgil felt sick to his stomach… did Logan know about this? Probably not. He was just another victim of Patton’s madness.

                Wanting to turn on his heel and run was the foremost thought on Virgil’s mind, but he couldn’t run from Kenway. A spell would probably knock Virgil off his feet before he reached the corner. So what could he do? What could he say? Virgil’s eyes flicked back to Kenway.

                “Why is he in so much trouble?”

                Kenway arched a thin, manicured eyebrow. “He used an unregistered spell.”

                “What kind of spell?”

                “I find it strange you wouldn’t know,” Kenway sniffed haughtily. “A spell like that… deconstructing someone’s person and filtering it through the air… it’s an impressive feat. Not to mention putting him back together again.”

                Virgil’s jaw dropped. He’d thought Logan had apparated… but Patton had done it. Patton used a spell – an illegal and dangerous one – to deconstruct Logan… and put him back together. All to save Virgil. In a fraction of a second, Patton had mastered life and death, juggling two lives for the price of one.

                He wasn’t sure if that was comforting… or just more horrifying.

                “I want to talk to him,” Virgil said before he could stop himself. Kenway looked surprised, and he straightened the way he stood as he raised his eyebrows. Virgil held his ground. “I… I need to ask him something.”

                “We have to bring him in for a formal investigation,” Kenway said, his tone low and warning as he put a hand on the doorknob. “So, we’ll have to be there in the room with you.”

                “Sure.” Virgil shrugged and looked to the door. He didn’t care what Kenway had to say. He needed to talk to his dad… no. To Patton. He wanted the truth. He was tired of all this. He needed answers. “Whatever. I just need to talk to him.”

                “Fine,” Kenway said as he opened the door and gestured for Virgil to enter first.

                It looked like a small office that the school wasn’t using anymore. Boxes of discarded and unnecessary items had been stacked along the walls like a makeshift storage area. Patton sat at the table that was shoved to the side of the room. He looked up when Virgil entered, scrambling out of his chair before anyone could stop him.

                Virgil braced himself when Patton came flying toward him. What would he do? He wouldn’t incriminate himself in front of Aurors, would he? Virgil’s thoughts were cut short when Patton threw his arms around him and held tight.

                “Virgil! Oh, my little boy… are you okay? Is anything hurt?” He pulled back, cupping Virgil’s cheeks and giving him a long look as the Aurors glanced at each other. They’d taken off his handcuffs at least. But that didn’t make Virgil feel any better. Patton heard that, and his hands flinched away from Virgil as he took a step back. “Virgil… sweetheart… you don’t… you don’t really think that I did all this, do you?”

                Virgil looked away. He wasn’t sure what to think. This was all a mess.

                “It is,” Patton agreed, his hands shaking as he reached up to brush a thumb over Virgil’s cheek. “My… my heart stopped when I saw you falling. I just… I didn’t think… I used the spell and Logan just shot forward.” Patton looked ashamed when he pulled his hand back and looked at the palms of his hands. “I… I know I should’ve tried something else, but… I panicked.”

                Virgil glanced down at his father and felt his stomach heave. The palms of Patton’s hands were burned and blackened. Was it the spell? Patton chuckled sadly.

“It… it had a bit of backlash. Unsurprising, really.” He lifted his watery eyes and smiled. “I just… I’m so glad you’re _okay_.”

                Pressing his lips together in a thin line, Virgil fought he urge to cry. He was scared. And frustrated. He loved Patton… and Patton loved him, too, didn’t he?

                “Of _course_ I love you, sweetheart,” Patton breathed.

                Then why was this happening? Why was all of this madness tied to their family? How had Patton escaped the pain? How was Patton left unscathed by the curse?

                “I don’t know,” Patton said, sounding desperate as he held his hands to his chest. “I honestly don’t know, Virgil. I didn’t do this. I would _never_ hurt you.”

                “Okay,” Virgil said, his voice scratchy and coarse with unshed tears. He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m… gonna go.”

                He was headed toward the door when Patton called to him again. “Virgil, just… one more thing.” Virgil turned to give his… father… a considering look. Patton wrung his burnt, aching hands and murmured, “Is… is Logan okay? They… they didn’t let me see him after I used the spell. They just… took me away.”

                Virgil nodded once, looking away as he muttered, “Yeah. He’s fine.”

                “Thank god,” Patton breathed, sounding like he might faint then and there as he pressed a hand to his breast. “Oh, thank god…”

                Not looking back, Virgil went to Kenway and gave him a long, considering look. “When will you bring him back?”

                “After we’re finished with the questioning. However long that may take.” Kenway glanced at Patton before his eyes flickered back to Virgil. “Then, we’ll have to call him back for a hearing.”

                “Fine,” Virgil muttered, turning away as he steeled his nerves. He didn’t look at Patton as he left. He simply opened the door, stepped out, and shut it behind him.

                If nothing happened to him while Patton was away, then his questions would be answered. Patton would be proved innocent, and his theory could be rejected. However… if nothing happened while Patton was gone… that could prove something worse.

                Patton was not who he seemed.

+++++

                Virgil leaned back against the cold, smooth bricks of the owlery. Nyx was long gone, flying across the country to find Uncle Emile and deliver a message. He’d left out the accidents… and Patton’s arrest. With luck, it would be sorted out neatly before anything else drastic happened. Uncle Emile didn’t need to worry until then.

                Letting the cold, autumn air ruffle his hair, Virgil let out a long, tired sigh as he stared out at Ilvermorny’s lush, green campus. The previous afternoon’s madness had faded into a quiet evening, followed by a reluctant, sleepless night. Now, as Virgil braced himself against the cold air of morning, he dreaded Patton’s return.

                Nothing had occurred in his absence. Did that mean Patton really _was_ the origin of the curse? If that was the case, Patton could’ve killed him a hundred times over by now. So many ‘accidents’ and no one would suspect a thing.

                Footsteps on the cold stone stairs pulled Virgil from his thoughts and he glanced over his shoulder to see Roman breeching the last step. He looked tired. Sad. Almost like he was lonely where he stood, staring at Virgil.

                “Hey,” Virgil muttered, tapping his hand against the stone awkwardly. Roman cracked a little smile at that.

                “Hey,” he echoed, taking slow, careful steps toward Virgil. “It’s… me. The real me, if you were curious.”

                Virgil grimaced and looked away. There was no way to prove that. All he had was his gut to tell him right from wrong. And even then… Roman made his stomach twist all the time. Right and wrong were caught up in the mix. He didn’t know what to think.

                “What do you want?” Virgil asked, sounding more snappish than he meant. Roman didn’t seem to mind it as he came to a stop a few feet away from Virgil. He shrugged and let out a long sigh that clouded in the cold air.

                “To be with you,” he answered simply. Virgil felt his heart seize at that; a promise? An offer? It could be both. It could be neither. Virgil looked out over the campus again.

                “You… should stay away from me,” he grumbled, feeling more irritated when Roman didn’t move. “The curse isn’t _gone,_ Roman. I’m still in danger no matter what.”

                “Then you need someone with you,” Roman answered softly. “To help you.”

                “No.” Virgil turned on his heel to meet Roman’s eye. His gaze felt sharp, each word hot with meaning… but Roman didn’t back down. He looked unfazed as Virgil held his ground. “You need to get away from me before you get caught up in his mess.”

                “I don’t care,” Roman said with a shrug.

                “You’ll get yourself killed!” Virgil shouted, gesturing to himself. “Believe me, I know! I know _exactly_ what this curse can do to someone!”

                “I’ll be fine,” Roman said as he stepped a little closer.

                Virgil was getting crowded against the wall of the owlery. He didn’t like feeling fenced in. He wanted Roman to go away. He didn’t need him. He didn’t need anyone. He wanted to be alone.

                Twisting back to press himself into the stone, Virgil leaned away from Roman and growled, “This curse is going to kill you.”

                Roman’s eyes met his as he said, “I don’t believe you.”

                When Roman stepped closer, their chests were nearly brushing against one another. Virgil was desperate to prove his case as he shouted, “It will! It drags everyone into this! If you get any closer, it’ll… it’ll kill you, too!”

                Defiant as ever, Roman grabbed Virgil’s biceps and held him still, shouting, “I don’t believe you!”

                “ _Why_?” Virgil shouted urgently as Roman’s hands gripped his arms tight. “Why would you just _leave me alone?_ You’re going to get yourself killed!”

                “Because I’m crazy in love with you, you idiot!” Roman yelled, his face red and eyes burning as he held Virgil’s stare.

                They watched each other for a moment, eyes locked and breaths mingling in the early morning light. Love? No… no, Roman couldn’t love him. That wasn’t a thing. They were friends. That wasn’t going to change. It wasn’t going to evolve. Even so, Virgil found himself glancing at Roman’s lips. He swallowed thickly as he banished his gaze back to Roman’s eyes. But it was too late. He’d been caught.

                With a careful, gentle hand, Roman touched the back of Virgil’s neck and pulled him down. Their lips barely brushed. Just a chaste, confused touch. Virgil didn’t know what to do. He was stiff as Roman kissed him, all warm lips and soft touches. It was over too soon. Roman pulled back, and Virgil’s eyes fluttered open.

                Hardly able to breathe, Virgil murmured, “I don’t believe you.”

                Roman wasn’t surprised by that. He didn’t even flinch. His hand still rested on the back of Virgil’s neck, not restraining, just holding him as their foreheads pressed together.

                “Why not?” Roman asked after a pause. “Because of the curse?”

                Virgil hesitated; why _didn’t_ he believe Roman? Roman had always flirted. Roman had always complimented him. It almost made sense that there was _something_ between them. But still… there was so much that was undiscovered between them. So much they didn’t know about each other. Roman couldn’t love him yet. He’d hardly scratched the surface of who Virgil was.

                “You barely know me,” Virgil muttered, feeling irritated when his voice rang sad and lonely in the air. Roman laughed a little bit.

                “No one does,” Roman said tiredly. “But I like what I do know. What about you?”

                Virgil hesitated, his hands handing heavily at his sides. “I don’t know. I don’t,” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

                Roman still didn’t pull away. The closeness was unnerving. Like fire sizzling along his nerves.

                “You say that now,” Roman said softly. “But is it just me? Or... the curse?”

                Virgil let out a long, worn sigh. “I can’t trust anyone right now,” he muttered, his eyes catching the flutter of Roman’s eyelashes. “How do I know you’re even the real Roman?”

                Roman laughed, a small puff of white air that left them both a little breathless. “All I have is me, Virgil. I don’t know how to convince you.”

                Virgil smiled a bit, his chest aching with something painfully familiar: hope. He wanted Roman. He wanted the kiss to mean something. He wanted... he wanted this Roman to be the  _real_  one, not a copy made to lure him to his death.

                Leaning into Roman a bit, Virgil lifted his hands and hesitantly grabbed at the hem of Roman’s jacket. “Were you serious?” He asked, feeling the way Roman’s fingers teased the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Did you mean it?”

                Roman laughed a bit. “Did I mean it when I said I’m crazy about you? Of course I did.” He tilted his head and rubbed their noses together. Virgil made a face at the display, feeling heat rush to his cheeks when Roman chuckled, low and warm. “I meant it.”

                Virgil bit his tongue, unsure of what to say. Again, Roman simply smiled. “I don’t need an answer or anything... you’re just so clueless. I needed you to know. I’m in for the long haul. You’re not getting rid of me with scary stories.”

                “I...” Virgil stopped, swallowed his words, and threw caution to the wind. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Roman’s anxiously.

                He wasn’t really sure what he was doing, is lips tense and desperately pushing as Roman leaned away and laughed. He almost apologized, but Roman’s hands caught his face and pulled him back in. Gentle and careful, Roman kissed him again. Had he practiced? Had he kissed other people? Virgil couldn’t even find it in himself to feel jealous; Roman was a damn fine kisser.

                Another soft kiss, and Virgil’s bottom lip was caught between Roman’s as he pulled back to take a breath. Roman let his hands slide back into Virgil’s hair, combing through his purple-dyed locks as he smiled.

                “Should I take this as your response?”

                Roman asked, his voice tilted toward smug curiosity. Virgil shrugged and tugged at the hem of Roman’s jacket.

                “I dunno,” he muttered. “I still don’t know if you’re the real Roman.”

                “If I’m not,” Roman said coyly, “The real me is going to be  _very_  jealous.”

                Virgil almost laughed... but something in the air shifted. Something wrong. Like a premonition before a bad dream. The sinking feeling before the fall. The bow before the break.

                The curse.

                Grabbing Roman’s arm, Virgil darted for the stairs, dragging Roman behind him as he raced away from the sickening feeling.

                “Woah!” Roman squeaked, hardly able to keep his footing as they rushed down the stairs. “What’s happening? Virgil! Why are we running?”

                “The curse!” Virgil shouted over his shoulder, careful to watch his step as he towed Roman down the winding staircase.

                Couldn’t he feel it? Someone watching... something waiting to pounce. Hands just behind him, reaching, reaching... it was close. So close, Virgil felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

                “Nothing happened!” Roman shouted, stumbling a bit. He shrugged his arm out of Virgil’s grip only to take his hand, holding tight as they ran. “You can’t even see it! How do you know that it’s —“

                “I can feel it!” Virgil hissed as he pushed out of the stairwell and out onto the safe ground of the campus. There, on the grass, there was no way to be hurt. He tugged Roman over to the open, fresh grass, and let go. “Okay,” he gasped, hardly able o catch his breath. “Okay... I think... I think we’re okay now.”

                Collapsing onto the grass, Roman let out a strangled groan. “Your legs... are too long. I can’t believe I didn’t trip and kill us both.”

                Virgil rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I didn’t want us  _both_  thrown off the top of the owlery, Princey.”

                “Next time,” Roman moaned, “Let me fall.”

                Before Virgil could huff a laugh, he turned to see someone walking toward them. He knew those long, trailing robes. The silver and gold was unmistakable. Principal Remulus. Virgil felt his stomach clench nervously at the sight of him.

                Maybe Remulus knew something about the MACUSA investigation. Maybe he knew that Virgil was in danger. Maybe he had something to say about Patton.

                “Hey,” Virgil said as he nudged Roman with his foot. “Get up. The Principal is coming.”

                Roman, in all his compact, irritated glory, sat up with a huff. He glared at Virgil, still red-faced and tired from their sprint down the stairs, but that expression fell away when he looked in Remulus’ direction.

                “Virgil,” Roman breathed, his eyes going wide.

                Virgil followed his gaze, looking to where Principal Remulus should have been... only to see Roman walking towards them. Virgil’s stomach heaved; two Romans. The second had been the Principal... but now he was a clone, stalking toward them with dark intent.

                This time, it was Roman who grabbed Virgil and started to run.

                “Fuck!” Roman shouted as he tugged Virgil along behind him. “That’s _not_ me! But it was me! What kind of polyjuice fuckery is this?”

                Virgil easily kept up; Roman’s legs were shorter than his, and his strides were easy to match. And that allowed Virgil to twist and glance behind them.

                The second Roman... the curse Roman, as it were, had fallen behind. Now, he stood still and calm next to the owlery, watching them run. He was just _standing_ there. Was he waiting for them to come back? They weren’t going to. But… was running their only solution?

                “Wait! Roman, slow down!” Virgil dragged back on Roman’s hold, pulling him back to a slow, stumbling pace. Roman pivoted and gave Virgil a mortified look.

                “Slow _down_? Are you crazy?” He gestured blindly back toward the owlery. “I just saw my magical doppelgänger! I’m not stopping for _anything_!”

                “He stopped,” Virgil said, watching the faraway figure by the tower. He couldn’t see him anymore… but when he looked across the open grass, there was no one else. The doppelgänger was gone, but the sick feeling in Virgil’s stomach had endured. “He… I don’t see him.”

                “Merlin’s ghost… he could be _anywhere!”_ Roman wrung his hands in the air as he looked around frantically. “I thought you said it was Principal Remulus!”

                “It was!” Virgil shouted, trying to keep Roman from running off into the forest. “It was… he just… changed. And then it was you.”

                “No,” Roman laughed hysterically. “ _I’m_ me. That thing? That… whoever it was… was _not_ me.”

                Shaking his head tiredly, Virgil ran a shaking hand through his hair. They couldn’t go back toward the school. The curse could’ve taken the appearance of _anyone_. It could have taken over half the school for all he knew. Could it do that? Could it turn all of Ilvermorny against him? Maybe that was possible… maybe it wasn’t. His head was spinning. He felt sick. Why did he still feel sick?

                “Virgil!” A familiar voice called across the field. Virgil stiffened, turning on his heel to see Logan jogging towards him and Roman.

                “Oh no,” Roman said, low and angry as he grabbed Virgil’s arm and held tight. “No, no, no…” Something was off. Something wasn’t quite right. Virgil allowed Roman to tug him back a few steps as Logan continued to jog toward them. Roman’s hand clamped on his shoulder, pulling Virgil down so he could whisper fervently in his ear. “Is… is that really him? Or the curse?”

                Virgil didn’t answer as Logan approached. He was ruddy and gasping as he stopped and leaned his hands against his knees, catching his breath. Virgil frowned; Logan was never like this around strangers. He didn’t rush when there wasn’t a good reason for it. He didn’t _jog_.

                “Hey…” Virgil said, feeling Roman squeeze his hand tight. He paused, narrowed his eyes, then said, “Dad.”

                “Virgil,” Logan gasped, still huffing and puffing as he stood up straight and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve been looking for you.”

                Frowning, Virgil hummed thoughtfully. “I was… spending time with Roman.”

                Eyes flickering over to Roman, Logan smiled and nodded. “I can see that. Roman,” he gave Roman a considering look. “I hope you’re taking good care of my son.”

                Roman, to his credit, looked notably startled as he tightened his hold on Virgil’s hand. “Y-yes, Professor. Of course.”

                This wasn’t right. Logan _hated_ Roman. If not for the fact that he was rambunctious in class, then because he was a Prince. The letter from Roman’s father was _not_ lost on Logan. He still held a grudge. He was the _king_ of holding grudges. So… whoever this was… it _wasn’t_ his father.

                Logan – or whoever it was – smiled at Virgil. “Patton is back,” he said, as if the interrogation wasn’t a big deal. He just kept smiling. “He wants to see you.”

                Virgil hesitated; he couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when he wasn’t sure who was who. Gripping Roman’s hand, Virgil took a step back and pressed himself into the warm, waiting circle of Roman’s arms. “I’m uh… I’m hanging out with Roman right now.”

                There was a fraction of a moment where Logan’s smile faded, only to come back with a force as he spoke in a low, even tone. “I _said_ he’d like to _see_ you.”

                “Curse,” Roman whispered fervently, his lips dangerously close to Virgil’s ear. “ _Curse._ ”

                Virgil ignored that, watching Logan carefully as he said, “I don’t want to see him right now.”

                “Really?” Logan asked, his smiled unnaturally coy as he tilted his head to the side. “Your own father? I find that difficult to believe.”

                Roman’s fingernails were digging into Virgil’s shoulder. He was holding fast, almost pulling him away from Logan. The glint in his dark, blue eyes wasn’t right. The emotion in his eyes wasn’t fitting quite right. This wasn’t his father.

                “ _Expelliarmus_!”

                Virgil and Roman ducked as a furious voice tore through the air. The doppelgänger twisted and deflected the spell, glaring over his shoulder as Roman and Virgil found their footing again. Lifting his eyes, Virgil found himself staring gratefully at his real father, Logan.

                With his rosewood wand held out toward the curse clone and his other hand held high, Logan was staring his doppelgänger down with anger Virgil had seldom seen before. Shaking and furious, Logan’s voice was low and growling as he said, “Step. Away. From. My. Son.”

                Giving Logan a tired and disinterested look, the doppelgänger shook his head. “Mr. Picani… it’s been quite some time.”

                Still shaken, Logan flicked his wrist, sending a flare of fiery magic toward the doppelgänger. Again, he deflected the spell, looking a little irritated as he glanced back to Virgil and Roman. He smiled, that wicked fake-Logan smile.

                “So long, Virgil,” he grinned, looking so unlike Logan it hurt to see. But Virgil didn’t dare tear his eyes away. He couldn’t. Not when Roman was clinging to him, holding him close as the doppelgänger stared him down. Winking, the doppelgänger grinned and said, “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

                Just like that, he was gone.

                Like a breath on the wind, the doppelgänger had disappeared, leaving Logan wielding his wand toward an empty space. Roman let out a disbelieving breath, Roman leaned his weight against Virgil. Maybe his legs were shaking. Maybe he just needed confirmation that Virgil was still there. Either way, they were left holding onto each other and gaping at the empty spot Logan’s doppelgänger once stood.

                After a moment, Logan let his hand holding the wand drop. It was quiet. The silence stretched out between them. Logan looked like he was wobbling where he stood. Virgil wasn’t surprised… he wasn’t supposed to be out of the infirmary, yet. Whatever spell Patton had used on him certainly had an impact.

                Standing up straight, Virgil tugged Roman along with him as he approached Logan. “Dad… are… are you okay?” He asked, watching the tired glint of Logan’s eye as he reached out to pat Logan’s shoulder comfortingly. “You… really shouldn’t be out of bed yet, should you?”

                Letting out a shaky breath, Logan tucked his wand into his sleeve. “I… I’m alright. But are you?” He reached out, touching Virgil’s face, shoulder, arm… just to make sure he was alright. Just to make sure he was all in one piece. “I… I was just on my way to find you and then I saw you running across the field with Mr. Prince…” he gave Roman a scathing look. “And I assumed the worst.”

                Letting out a sigh, Virgil pushed a hand through his hair and discretely let go of Roman’s hand, tucking his spare hand into his pocket. “It’s good you came runnin’.”

                Nodding tiredly, Logan adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath. “I wasn’t quite… running… I don’t think I can handle running yet.” He smoothed a hand down the front of his cloak, his hand trembling slightly where he stood. “I’m… exhausted.”

                “Not surprising,” Roman said shakily. Logan looked to him, intrigued, before Roman made an anxious face. “Well… after what happened on the field the other day, I’m surprised you’re still standing.”

                “So am I,” Logan sighed, giving Virgil a strong, meaningful look. “But, for my son, I think I can handle being in a little rush.”

                Warmth flickered in Virgil’s chest, but it didn’t change what he’d heard. The curse… or, the caster of the curse… they _knew_ Logan. They knew him well enough to know his family name. That could mean a variety of things. It could be a stranger who simply _happened_ to know Logan in his childhood.

                Or worse… it really was Patton. Maybe Patton had multiple personalities. Maybe he wasn’t even _aware_ that he was doing these things. The attacks, the mystery… and even the spell that had deconstructed Logan only twelve hours earlier… it could all be the fabrication of Patton’s twisted mind.

                “Dad… did you know that guy?” He asked carefully, seeing the way Logan’s eyes glinted with anxiety. He narrowed his eyes, seeing fitful familiarity in those dark eyes as he said, “Because it sounded like _he_ knew _you_.”

                There was a significant pause. Logan’s eyes grew a little hazy as his brow furrowed in concentration. When Roman reached out to take Virgil’s hand again, Virgil didn’t dare pull away. Not with Logan’s next words hanging uneasily in the air.

                “I don’t know,” Logan murmured, sounding lost in his own thoughts as he repeated, “I… I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My oh my... this story sure has come back swingin'.  
> Where did Patton go?
> 
> See you next chapter.


	15. Burning Snow

                Virgil sat in the infirmary with his father, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he dreamt. Logan looked troubled, even as he slept. Like dreams couldn’t wipe away the difficulty of the reality they were forced to deal with.

                Roman had been sent away to his dorm by the nurses hours ago… he’d fought them, claiming he’d rather stay with Virgil, but in the end, school protocol won out. Roman had left him slowly, promising to find him in the morning so they could talk, their hands slowly separating as Roman walked through the swinging doors. It left an impression on Virgil’s hand, a warm spot that wouldn’t fade, long after Roman was gone.

                Logan was exhausted. Virgil was frustrated. Nothing made sense anymore. No one was who they claimed to be. The curse was restless… reaching out with feverish, desperate hands to push the story onward and bring a dark, terrible ending. Virgil sighed and put his head in his hands.

                The doors of the infirmary creaked open, and Virgil didn’t lift his head. It could be the curse. It could be a stranger. It could be a nurse. It didn’t matter anymore.

                “Virgil,” Patton’s voice was soft. Almost hesitant as he slowly approached Virgil, his hands wringing and eyes carefully trained on him. Gently, he put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy.”

                Shrugging Patton away, Virgil looked to Logan’s sleeping face. Would he wake up if Patton attacked him? Would he come to the rescue if Patton really _was_ the origin of the curse?

                Patton let out a sorry sigh as he took a step back. “I…” he sighed again, pushing a hand through his hair tiredly. “I don’t know what I can say to you, Virgil. I don’t know how I can convince you I’m _not_ the person behind these attacks.”

                Virgil didn’t move. Patton took a deep breath.

                “All… all I can say is that I love you, Virgil. So, _so,_ much. You and Logan are my life. I would _never_ want to hurt you,” he sounded sad and faraway as he looked to Logan. “I… I know I can’t _make_ you believe me. I can’t _force_ you to trust me again. But… but I’m back now. And I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe.”

                Fidgeting with his hands, Virgil forced himself not to look at Patton. He didn’t want to get swept up in those eyes. He didn’t want to be caught in the moment and blindly trust him. He could still be the crazy mastermind. For all Virgil knew, Logan could even be his coconspirator.

                After a moment, Patton let out an amused chuckle. Virgil gave him a sidelong glance, and Patton waved his hand in the air flippantly. “Oh, it’s just… this reminds me of how you were when we first met. Back at the orphanage… when you didn’t know who we were… and you didn’t know who _you_ were.”

                Wetting his lips, Virgil tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “Are you saying I’m being immature?”

                “I’m saying you’re being cautious,” Patton answered gently. Just like the Patton he always knew. The gentle, caring father he’d loved and trusted. Virgil didn’t know what to do. Patton didn’t push, but he did go to sit at Logan’s side, opposite Virgil. “You feel like you can’t trust me, Virgil… and I respect that. You’re a smart boy.” He paused, straightening his glasses with a tired smile. “But, even if you don’t trust me, I’m going to be here for you. I’m going to do what I can to keep you safe. It’s my job!”

                When Patton laughed a little, the light sound lifting the heavy air just a bit. Virgil’s chest felt tight. He wanted to breathe, but he knew it would bring tears. He felt like he was being pulled apart from all angles… and there was no safe place to hide. He wanted to run to Patton. To be held and sheltered… but he couldn’t quite believe him, yet. He needed all the facts. He wanted it… and it hurt.

                Lifting his eyes, Virgil finally met Patton’s eyes as he whispered, “I wish could I believe you.”

                Patton smiled, but it was sad and empty as he breathed, “I wish you could, too.”

                Shifting where he sat uncomfortably, Virgil eyed Logan’s sleeping face. No rest for the wicked, it seemed. He frowned. “The person… the person behind the curse _knew_ him.”

                Hesitating, Patton reached out to grab one of Logan’s hands, holding it securely between his hands as his brow furrowed in confusion. “They did?” He leaned forward a little, his eyes intense as he said, “What _exactly_ did they say?”

                “He… he said it had been a long time,” Virgil said, still uncomfortable with sharing these details. But, if Patton didn’t know what the attacker had said, did that mean he _wasn’t_ the culprit? He could be faking it. That seemed farfetched… Patton was terrible liar. Unless he was faking that, too. Virgil’s head was starting to hurt with all this…

                Patton chuckled.  “You’re making _me_ a little dizzy with all those spinnin’ thoughts.”

                For the first time in a while, Virgil laughed a little. He’d missed that… laughing with his dad like there wasn’t anything wrong. He wanted this curse gone. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted to tell him everything that had developed while he’d been away. Virgil fidgeted with his hoodie sleeves, watching the way Patton passed a loving hand through Logan’s hair.

                “Dad?”

                Patton smiled. “Yeah, sport?”

                Twitching a little, Virgil glanced down at the blankets and muttered, “I kissed Roman.”

                Silence stretched between them for a moment. Just a few, long seconds that made Virgil uneasy. Patton’s hand still held Logan’s, and he tapped his fingers against the back of Logan’s hand, thoughtful and soft as he sat quietly. After too long, Patton sat up a little straight and looked at Virgil carefully.

                “Is that a good thing?” He asked, a cautious smile on his face before the smile drooped and his expression turned serious. “Or… a bad thing?”

                Shifting where he sat, Virgil made a face. “I mean… at the time, it was good. I think.”

                Patton’s expression remained neutral. “You think.”

                Looking down at his lap, Virgil fidgeted with his hands, cracking each finger one by one as he thought for a moment. Kissing Roman… was that good? Or was he just desperate for the attention? Was he leading Roman on if he didn’t exactly know what he wanted yet? Was it the beginning of a romance or a tragedy? Part of Virgil dreaded the answer.

                Letting out a long, tired sigh, Patton smiled softly. “I can’t make up your mind for you, Virgil. Whether or not you want to be with Roman or not… that’s something you have to decide on your own.”

                 “It’s so _daunting_ though…” Virgil mumbled as he scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t… I don’t wanna make the wrong decision and get stuck.”

                Patton cocked his head to the side. “Well… do you want to be in a relationship, kiddo?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil said, then shook his head. “Wait, no… not right now. Maybe?” He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “The curse and the attacks… it’s all messing up my head. I can’t choose.”

                Smiling a little, Patton nodded thoughtfully. “It’s… a difficult time for all of us. I can imagine how anxious you are… but talking with me isn’t going to make it go away.” Virgil gave his father an odd look; what did that mean? Patton heard the question and met him with a smile. “It means that you need to talk to _Roman_. Not me. Because when the time comes, I think the right words should come out of your mouth.”

                Virgil made a face. “Just… go into it without any prep?”

                “Oh, Virgil…” Patton shook his head fondly. “You’re so like Logan… the two of you can’t do _anything_ without a little over-analyzation. Really, kiddo… feelings are messy. You don’t need to say what you feel all clever and fancy.”

                “But –”

                “Virgil,” Patton said softly. Gently. With those eyes that Virgil knew so well. With that smile that had helped him through the years. Virgil pressed his lips together as Patton said, “Talk to Roman. Because talking to me won’t change anything. You need to figure out with Roman what you feel.” He pat Logan’s hand fondly, looking at his husbands’ sleeping face before he said, “You let us worry about the curse for a while. Go talk to your boy.”

                Sliding out of his chair slowly, Virgil narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Roman is not _my boy_ …”

                Patton laughed a little, sending Virgil a wink. “Oh… not yet!”

+++++

                “Virgil!” Roman shouted, bracing his hands on each side of the window as he leaned out and tried to grab him. Virgil swerved on his broomstick, trying to avoid certain death as Roman tried to pull him into the room. “Get _off_ of that broomstick! The curse could kill you at any second!”

                “Stop it!” Virgil said, kicking at Roman’s hands crossly. “And shut up! You’re going to get us both in trouble!”

                Still holding his hands out like he was waiting for Virgil to fall into them, Roman chewed his lip anxiously. “You… you’d better have a good reason to be flying outside my dorm window at...” he checked his watch. “Eleven-thirty at night.”

                “A _damn_ good reason!” Another Thunderbird boy shouted from inside the dorm room. A chorus of grumbled agreements followed.

                Holding his broomstick tight, Virgil kicked his legs anxiously. “I… I wanted to talk to you.”

                Roman cuffed a hand through his curly – and sleep-mussed – hair. “It couldn’t wait until morning? When I could be sure you won’t plummet to the ground at any second?”

                “No,” Virgil said sternly. “It couldn’t.”

                Roman made a high-pitched whining noise in the back of his throat, reaching out for Virgil again. “Virgil, you crazy-handsome devil… come in here and we’ll talk!”

                A new chorus of ‘ooh!’s and kissing noises echoed in the dorm room. Virgil almost wanted to fall off his broomstick out of spite. After a moment of waving away his dormmates, Roman glanced out the window – probably checking for prefects walking the halls below them – and climbed onto his own broomstick. Virgil’s heart ached; he hoped he was doing the right thing.

                His advice from Patton was worth its weight in gold. Patton gave _excellent_ advice. But still… something in Virgil’s stomach twisted anxiously as he flew over the campus with Roman following close behind. Things could go wrong. Roman could reject his answer… Virgil could trip over his words. Many things could be taken the wrong way. Oh, the blunders of social life…

                It was half-past late by the time Virgil landed. His feet were firmly on the crisp, cold grass, and he glanced up at the moonless sky. Roman landed behind him. Their breaths clouded in the air. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They simply stared up at the sky, watching the grey, pre-winter clouds drift through the void with a strange sense of tranquility hanging over them.

                “Virgil,” Roman said carefully. His voice hung in the air as a cloud like a comic speech bubble, and Virgil couldn’t look away until the cloudy air disappeared. Roman met his eye, though, holding him as he said, “Did I… did I do something wrong?”

                Startled, Virgil gripped his broomstick. “No, you didn’t.”

                “Okay,” Roman said, almost to himself. “Then… did I… _say_ something wrong…?”

                Again, Virgil muttered, “No.”

                Swinging his broomstick back and forth, Roman made a show of sweeping the grass as he stared at his feet. “Then… I know why we’re here.”

                Virgil let out a breath, almost disbelieving when he said, “You do.”

                Roman’s smile turned a little melancholy as he stopped sweeping. He leaned heavily against his broomstick, his knuckles white as he gripped the shaft. Virgil blinked, watching the way Roman’s eyelashes fell on his cheeks when he looked down. The redness in his cheeks as he braved the cold night air, and the cupids bow of his pale, pink lips as he smiled sadly.

                “You have your answer for me, huh?” Roman sounded dejected. Like he was admitting defeat. Virgil squirmed uneasily, watching the way Roman shifted from foot to foot. “I’m… honestly, I’m not surprised. I think… I think I fall before anyone else, you know? I fall fast and… then I find out that the other person… _didn’t_ fall.”

                Virgil stiffened. Roman thought he was rejecting him. Was he? He wasn’t sure himself. He didn’t know _what_ he was feeling. Should he interrupt? Should he disagree? Or apologize? Virgil wasn’t sure… and at this point, Virgil was too scared to ask.

                “You’re dealing with a curse,” said Roman as he looked up at the empty sky. He let out a long, cloudy breath just to watch it fade away. His inhale was shaky and tired. “And… and I thought it was a good time to confess my love? God, I’m just…” he laughed and shook his head. “I’m _such_ a piece of work.”

                Virgil didn’t say anything. Roman wasn’t expecting an answer.

                “Shit,” Roman muttered. Virgil blinked; Roman didn’t swear often. But, from the looks of it, the word had given Roman a little courage, and he repeated, “ _Shit_. I can’t… did I wreck this?” He asked, his voice frantic as he looked up at Virgil. His hands were still holding his broomstick with that white-knuckle grip. “Did I wreck this… the friendship thing? Did I ruin it? With my confession thing? I don’t,” he stopped, took a breath, and looked down at the ground. “I don’t… want to lose you as a friend.”

                “You didn’t,” Virgil found himself saying. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

                “We could go back,” Roman said anyway, as if Virgil hadn’t spoken. “We could… go back to being friends. If you wanted. Pretend that… that nothing ever happened.”

                “I don’t want that,” Virgil said quickly, the words falling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He stumbled a half step, finding Roman’s eyes, wide and hopeful as they met halfway. “It happened. We can’t ignore it.”

                Roman deflated a little. “Oh… okay?”

                Letting his broomstick fall from his hand, Virgil didn’t care as it hit the ground with a sad _clunk._ It didn’t matter. He was busy watching Roman’s unsure expression. He looked scared, like he was waiting for the world to come crashing down around him. Virgil knew that feeling well. Reaching out a little bit, Virgil started to take Roman’s hand but lost courage before he could take it. Roman grabbed his hand, though, holding it tight as Virgil tried to calm his quick pulse.

                “I… don’t know if I _fell_ exactly,” Virgil said softly. “But… I know that… I don’t want to just… go back. I want to… to stay with you and...” he paused, still struggling to find the words. “And figure out… whatever it is… I feel.”

                Roman was quiet for a second, taking a moment to glance down at Virgil’s lips before diverting his eyes back to Virgil’s. “So…” he started, his voice pitched toward curiosity.

                “So…” Virgil responded, leaning down a little to touch his forehead to Roman’s. They stayed like that, their eyes too close to really see into the others. Their noses almost touching. Virgil bit his lip. “I… don’t want you to get hurt by this curse.”

                “Too late,” Roman said with a grin. “You’re stuck with me.”

                Shaking his head a little, Virgil rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Princey.”

                With that grin that Virgil knew and loved, Roman laughed and said, “ _Make me_.”

                Cupping Roman’s cheeks, Virgil leaned down and kissed him. After a few feeble attempts, Roman was left laughing and taking the lead, pushing Virgil’s hands away to make room for his own. Roman steered them back toward the right direction, tilting Virgil’s head a bit so he could kiss him properly. A deep, warm kiss that made Virgil’s tingle all the way to his toes.

                They continued like that for a few minutes, Roman delving in for kisses that left Virgil breathless, only to pause and come up for air that was so cold it burned their lungs. When Roman’s tongue tasted along Virgil’s bottom lip… it was weird. French-kissing was totally a thing, but… this was a new level of weird. Virgil wasn’t sure if he liked it. But… carefully, he parted he lips a bit, feeling the tip of Roman’s tongue press against his own, sliding back into his mouth. Hot, wet and... god, that was _not_ supposed to be hot. But it was.

                And the resulting moan that rose from Virgil’s throat was completely involuntary.

                He jerked back, covering his mouth with his hand while Roman blinked spastically at him.

                “What?” Roman asked, eyes wide and concerned. “Did… did I bite you, or…?”

                “No,” Virgil muttered, taking a step back. “I just… weird. Noise. Forget it.”

                Roman laughed a little. “Sweet Merlin, I thought I had bad breath or something!” He paused to give Virgil a waggle of his eyebrows. “And that noise wasn’t weird. It was kinda sexy.”

                Virgil looked away, trying to scrub the heat from his face as he looked anywhere but at Roman. “It’s… whatever, okay? Just forget it.”

                “Can’t!” Roman said, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s locked in my memory! Never going away!”

                “Shut up!” Virgil said, giving Roman a playful shove that sent Roman stumbling to the side a bit. They laughed at each other, grabbing each other’s arms and pulling the other close. The laughter grew quiet. Their smiles grew soft. Virgil bit his lower lip. “Hey, I… I really like you, Roman. I… don’t know if it’s love, or… or what, but…”

                “I know,” Roman said, his smile warm and hazy as he leaned into Virgil’s embrace. He shivered a little, tucking himself a bit closer as he grumbled, “And I’m glad we talked. Honestly, I am… but I’m freezing out here. Can we go back now?”

                Virgil snorted and wrapped his arms around Roman, pulling him in for a tight hug. “What’s wrong, Princey? You can’t handle a little cold?”

                Roman huffed and tucked his head under Virgil’s chin. “I guess I’m fine if my boyfriend is here to keep me warm…”

                “Boyfriend.”

                Roman stiffened. “Yeah?”

                “I’m your boyfriend?” Virgil asked, a smile on his lips that he couldn’t smother. In his arms, Roman shifted uneasily.

                “Yeah… I thought that’s what we were agreeing on. Unless…”

                “No, no… I want…” Virgil pressed his cheek to the top of Roman’s head, letting out a soft, shaky sigh. “Boyfriends. That sounds good.”

                Roman hummed. “You know what else sounds good?”

                “What?”

                “Going back to my dorm.”

                Virgil leaned back and gave Roman a sly look. “At least buy me dinner first.”

                "I'm _cold_ , you handsome devil. Besides," Roman’s teeth were nearly chattering as he said, “If I wanted to be alone with you, I’d ask to go back to _your_ dorm room; we’d have too many observers in mine.”

                Hugging a laugh at that, Virgil bent down to pick up his broomstick, glancing at Ilvermorny as it glowed, silver and impressive against the barrier of the campus. Roman looked with him, watching translucent ripple of the barrier with an oddly anxious expression.

                “Do… do you think they’re still here?” He asked, his voice far away even when they stood shoulder to shoulder. Virgil gave him a quick look.

                “Who?”

                Roman frowned, his brow furrowing as he spat, “The person behind the curse. I mean… they could be _anywhere_. They looked… just like Mr. Sanders,” he paused, then scratched the back of his neck. “Your dad, I mean.”

                Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Virgil looked back to Ilvermorny. “Maybe. I mean… that kind of changing… would it be Polyjuice? Or… like… transfiguration?”

                Roman shivered as he tucked his hands into his armpits, trying to keep warm as he muttered, “Doubtful. I mean, my grades in both subjects are better than yours, and I _know_ that both techniques have their flaws. The attacker changed fast… in the time it took for you to see the principal and tell me that he was there, he changed.” Roman sniffled and leaned his shoulder against Virgil’s. “Metamorphmagus is our best bet.”

                “Great,” Virgil grumbled. “So they could be _anybody_.”

                “Not the most comforting thought, I’ll admit,” Roman murmured as he shuffled his feet. “But… if _we_ could figure this out, why haven’t the MACUSA done anything?”

                Virgil frowned. “Maybe… maybe the MACUSA knows something.”

                Patton _had_ worked for the MACUSA. Was there a grudge being held? Something that Patton had done? It didn’t seem likely. Patton had helped put away criminals… why would the MACUSA, the home of American Wizarding justice, want to condemn him for that? Unless Patton sent the wrong man to prison. Or did he intentionally let a man go?

                Virgil shook his head; Patton was the posterchild for morality. He knew right from wrong. He wouldn’t let a known criminal go. He was a responsible man… but still, why wasn’t the MACUSA coming to interfere? Virgil stiffened, feeling his heart constrict painfully.

                “Hey. What if… what if the person behind the curse is working with the MACUSA?”

                Roman turned to him with narrowed, confused eyes. “You think someone in the MACUSA wants your family dead?”

                “No, no… I mean what if the attacker used their metamorphmagus powers to _look_ like someone from the MACUSA. What if… what if they’re using that power to throw them off the scent?”

                Roman shifted where he stood, looking a little lost amid the conspiracies. “I… I guess that _could_ be it. But I mean… it could be anything. There could be stuff going on inside the MACUSA and we just can’t see it… or maybe it goes deeper. It could be a school-wide thing. _Everyone_ could be behind it.”

                Raking a hand through his hair, Virgil let out a shaky sigh. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t know _anything_ anymore.”

                Roman laughed a little, sounding more alarmed than bemused when he asked, “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “Havin’ second thoughts about dating a cursed guy?”

                Roman’s grin was sharp and sly as he said, “You wish.”

+++++

                Soft and slow, winter came to Ilvermorny. With blankets of white snow and the brumal chill of frozen air, she swept over the landscape and frozen the green grasses and frosted the trees. Virgil didn’t mind the cold… it was grounding, most days. Better than summer heat that made him want to shed his skin like a snake. No, cold was better. It meant he could wear his comfirting hoodie under his school robes, warm and comforted as he went through the days with a chip on his shoulder.

                With the new development in the abilities of the curse and its master, Virgil had trouble trusting _anyone_ these days. He wanted to run away from Ilvermorny. Made hide away in the countryside with Roman, pretending the curse never existed. But, doing that would leave his parents all alone.

                Virgil couldn’t just leave them with a clear conscience.

                So, he dragged his feet through every new day, uneasy in his own skin as he watched every corner, every person, every moment… anything could happen. _Everything_ could happen. He didn’t like the possibilities.

                Which is how he found himself hiding in Logan’s office, long after their class had ended. Logan was at the chalkboard, wiping it clean while Virgil sat on a desk, swinging his legs back and forth as he fidgeted with his wand.

                “Virgil,” Logan said carefully as he set his eraser down. “Is there a particular reason you’re hiding in my classroom instead of attending your next class?”

                Virgil shrugged. “I dunno… why haven’t you kicked me out, yet?”

                Logan’s responding laugh was tired and worn as he said, “I suppose it’s my own selfishness. I’d rather keep an eye on my only son instead of letting him loose in this madhouse.”

                “Madhouse?” Virgil smiled, twirling his wand in his fingers. “That’s pretty accurate.”

                Logan tapped his hands along the edge of his chalkboard, an unusual display of unease. Glancing back at Virgil, Logan smiled thinly. “The imposter could be anywhere… can you blame my anxiety?”

                Virgil huffed. He knew more than his fair share of anxiety. Logan was just worried… but that was normal, wasn’t it? That’s what parents do best. They worry about their children. But this was beyond normality. Attempted murders and long-lost grudges… everywhere they turned there was a new issue. Virgil pulled on leg up onto the table and propped his chin on his knee.

                “Do you think it’s ever going to end?” He asked softly, “The curse, I mean.”

                “I should hope so,” Logan said solemnly. His gaze looked far away when he frowned and said, “From what I’ve garnered from my MACUSA connections, they’ve found no solid evidence of sinister happenings. Which doesn’t make sense…” he taped his chin thoughtfully as he began to pace. Virgil quirked an eyebrow; he knew that look well. It was time for Logan to play detective. “If they haven’t found anything happening – which is preposterous, we’ve been reporting these attacks since the beginning – it means that there is some sort of loophole in the system.”

                Virgil narrowed his eyes. “Roman and I were talking about that the other night.”

                Pausing there he stood, Logan gave Virgil a long, considering look. “You and… Mr. Prince spoke about this?”

                Ah. Logan still didn’t like Roman. Or, at the very least, he didn’t like Roman’s father. Did he think that made Roman a bad influence? That didn’t make sense… Roman had been trying to help them from the very beginning. But maybe Logan just couldn’t see it. He was too close to the pain to realize it.

                Shifting where he sat on the desk, Virgil shrugged loosely. “Well… yeah. He wants to help.”

                Logan gave him a long onceover before he said, “You’ve been spending quite a lot of time with one another, lately.”

                Virgil’s stomach clenched; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell Logan what was going on, yet. Patton approved wholeheartedly as long as he was happy… but Logan was still holding a grudge. Keeping secrets from parents wasn’t exactly a good thing, though. Especially with a curse on the loose. Everything needed to be out in the open, laid bare for all to see… if not for a clear conscience, then for his own safety.

                “Yeah,” Virgil muttered after a moment of thought. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, wetting his lips as he tried to steel his nerves. “We uh… we’re kinda… dating.”

                Logan stood still. Virgil didn’t look at him. He was studying a _very_ interesting stain on the marble tiles. The silence stretched through the room. With how still and quiet it was, it was almost like they were puppets living in a dollhouse, quiet and waiting for someone else to make the next move.

                “Dating,” Logan finally said, as if he needed confirmation.

                Virgil fidgeted with the sleeves of his school robes. “Yeah.”

                “You and Mr. Prince,” he said, as if it still didn’t compute. “Are _dating_.”

                Frowning, Virgil finally looked at his father. “Are you… like, good? I don’t know why you’re being so weird about this.”

                Logan was staring at random desk, perplexed and puckered as he muttered, “Yes. No, I’m… I’m fine, I’m just…” He paused and raked a hand through his hair, the silver hairs at his temples shining subtly in the low light of the classroom. “He’s a Prince. He is… _Carter’s_ son. I’m just surprised that he –”

                Virgil felt something defensive flare in his chest as he snapped, “What? You’re surprised he’s a good person? Did you figure he was going to be just like his dad?”

                Logan turned to him with something dark flashing in his eyes. “Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I’m merely concerned for you.”

                Crossing his arms over his chest, Virgil huffed. “Well… you don’t have to be.”

                Logan looked offended when he took a half step back and said, “I don’t have to – Virgil, this isn’t up for discussion. I’m going to worry about you. That’s what fathers do. I only want what’s best for you.”

                Still sizzling with irritation, Virgil turned away as he said, “Right now, Roman is what’s best. He makes me feel good, okay?”

                Logan’s tone was _angry_ as he growled, “Oh? Does he?”

                Virgil went red as he sputtered, “I didn’t mean it like _that!_ He just… I don’t know!” He threw his hands into the air as he stood up and grabbed his books. “I’m leaving, okay? I have to get to class.”

                “Wait.” Logan cut him off before Virgil could reach the classroom door, holding him hostage against the desks as he sighed and said, “That… wasn’t how it should have gone, should it?” Virgil looked away, unwilling to confirm anything as Logan let out a long, tired breath. He looked a little lost as he said, “Patton… Patton is so much _better_ when handling these things…”

                Virgil rolled his eyes with a small smile. He and Patton had already talked about it… and Logan’s disbelief meant that Patton hadn’t mentioned it to him. That meant that Patton was waiting for Virgil to come forward with the truth on his own.

                After collecting himself, Logan adjusted his glasses and met Virgil’s eye. “Son,” he said, all business. Virgil swallowed thickly. Logan continued, “I don’t want to deprive you of the experiences of your youth.” Virgil blinked; that was an interesting way of saying ‘I won’t get in your way’ without actually saying it. “But, I do want you to be careful. I… I don’t want you to be hurt by this… metamorphmagus attacker.”

                Virgil twitched where he stood, holding his books a little tighter to himself. “I… yeah, I get that. I mean… they were pretty damn convincing when they looked like Roman.”

                “Precisely,” Logan nodded, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “So, I implore you… be careful. Until this is all settled… it’s uncertain who we can truly trust.”

                “I know,” Virgil said softly, feeling his heart ache when he saw the fear that glimmered in Logan’s eyes. “And I’ll be okay. I promise.”

+++++

                Days blurred together. It almost seemed like the world had settled into normalcy. The absence of attacks, or even the appearance of the metamorphmagus imposter, became nonexistent. It just… stopped. Like a bad dream or a forgotten story. The plot bends and twists… but the story goes on. Quiet. Complacent. Like an ocean waiting for the next storm.

                Virgil laid back on his bed, staring up at the top of his four-post bed tiredly. Roman’s head was lying on his stomach as he read, the book held aloft in the air as Roman hummed a song. It wasn’t a song that Virgil knew… but it was one that had become associated with Roman, after all those long days together. Two weeks? A month? It didn’t seem real.

                One month with a boyfriend. One month with nothing of consequence happening to them. One month of Patton being back from the MACUSA, and four short days after his hearing. Patton wasn’t given a prison sentence, but he _was_ fined for the use of an unregistered spell. But, even that, just like everything else, settled into the background of their lives.

                Like an unsatisfying conclusion, it left them all a little unsettled. The ground had shifted beneath their feet, giving them all a rattled foundation as they tried, anxiously, to find their footing. But… that too, would pass. Surely. Slowly. Just like everything else.

                Virgil lifted a hand from the blankets to pass his fingers through Roman’s hair. Roman smiled. The cold, gray skies outside the Puckwudgie dorms stayed heavy with snowy clouds. Silent… and soft. Virgil could’ve stayed like that forever. Drowning in the sensation of comfort. But everything had an end.

Even this.

                “Hey,” Virgil said softly, earning a interested hum from Roman in response. “It’s almost Christmas break.”

                Roman put down his book. “Yeah.”

                “We’re… going home,” Virgil said, his voice hardly above a whisper. Roman didn’t react beyond another hum. Virgil continued to play with his hair, each curl tangling itself around Virgil’s fingers as he licked his lips and said, “We won’t be back until the fourth.”

                Slowly, Roman let out a long breath. “That’s… a while.”

                “Yeah.” Virgil bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling again, trying to ignore the gnawing loneliness that was creeping up on him. “Are you going home from the break?”

                Startled, Roman let out a fit of laughter, turning in to Virgil’s stomach and muffling his laughter against Virgil’s chest. “Home!” He laughed, almost breathless as he shook his head. “Ha! No, no… I haven’t gone home for Christmas break since…” He stopped short, giggling to himself as he shook his head. “No, I’m… I’m not going home.”

                Virgil’s heart seized. “Then… you’re going to stay here? In Ilvermorny?”

                Amused, Roman placed his hand over Virgil’s heart and leaned his chin against it. “Aww… worried about me, handsome?”

                Pursing his lips, Virgil flicked a curl out of Roman’s eyes as he grumbled, “It’s… two weeks. Two weeks all by yourself.”

                Again, Roman laughed. “I’m not the only person who stays here over Christmas break, baby.” Virgil fought back a smile at that. He _loved_ it when Roman called him baby. But that was beside the point. Roman sat up, all messy hair and far away eyes. His shirt had ridden up in the back, exposing tan skin as far as Virgil could see. Roman sighed. “There are teachers that stay behind to keep an eye on us… the students that stick around, I mean. There are many of us… just a handful of kids.”

                Biting his lower lip, Virgil sat up, slowly sliding his hand across the bare skin of Roman’s back. “If… if you want, I bet… I could convince my dads to let you stay with us.” Roman gave him a look from the corner of his eye, and Virgil leaned his chin on Roman’s shoulder with a mumbled, “If you want.”

                Squirming a little, Roman grabbed Virgil’s wandering hand and slid it around to his stomach. When Virgil tried to pull away, worried he’d crossed a line, Roman only chuckled. “My back is ticklish, hot stuff.” He pat Virgil’s hand as he put it back on his stomach, and Virgil slowly started to trace circles across the warm, firm skin of his midriff. Roman sighed, and Virgil could feel the contraction of his muscles. He was _definitely_ a quidditch player.

                “I… appreciate the offer,” he said softly. Virgil flinched away, already feeling a little dejected. “Hey. _Hey_ ,” he laughed a little, twisting out of Virgil’s hold so he could turn himself around to face Virgil. “I wasn’t done. I appreciate the offer, but… I can’t interrupt your family Christmas. This is _your_ thing. I don’t want to just… barge in and mess it up.”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “Are you really my Roman? Because the Roman I know would totally be _all over_ a party.”

                Roman snorted. “ _Your_ Roman? Excuse you. I belong to no man.”

                Smirking, Virgil grabbed Roman’s shoulders and flipped him over onto the bed, spreading him out on the plus blankets while Roman brimmed with laughter. He’d become bolder in these past few weeks. Ducking his head to kiss Roman was routine. A quick kiss before classes was the norm. He’d even learned to ignore the baffled stares of his classmates when Roman would throw his arms around Virgil’s neck and pull him in for a lingering kiss.

                And now, with Roman laid out so nicely for him, Virgil smiled as he leaned down to kiss him again. He liked it, he decided. Kissing Roman. It was enjoyable. He mainly enjoyed the quiet afternoons that he listened to Roman sing and talk about the future, wishing and hoping that he’d be able to perform and teach. He could lie in bed with Roman tangled next to him, kissing him slowly and whispering dreams like they were a deep, dark secret.

                Roman’s hands came to tangle in Virgil’s hair, not quite pulling but holding him in place as they melted together. The sound of their breathing filled the room, slow, deliberate breaths at first, then shorter and gasping. Desperate and fervent as Roman arched up into him, closer and closer until the lines between them blurred. Virgil felt hot. Too hot for his hoodie… but he didn’t bother to shrug it off. He was caught in Roman, pulling him in, pressing him down. Pressure and heat pooling between his legs. He couldn’t quite ignore it… but he tried his damnedest.

                When Roman moaned, it was like an electric current bolting down Virgil’s spine, and he felt a little dizzy. He pulled back a bit, trying to regain his balance. But Roman seemed impatient. He spread his legs a bit, pulling Virgil down, down, down into a kiss that didn’t want to end. Virgil could feel the bulge of Roman’s erection pushing at his stomach. Hard and insistent… they were both stupid and horny and stupid, stupid, _stupid_ …

                Something clattering at the window broke their concentration, and Roman let out an indignant yelp of alarm. Blood rushed back to Virgil’s brain and he dragged them both up and off the bed, safely pressed to the floor… just in case the window decided to break like it had, all that time ago.

                But it didn’t.

                Pressing Roman’s trembling frame to the floor, Virgil fought to catch his breath as he peaked over the bed at the window. Nyx sat on the sill with a letter clamped in her beak, tapping at the glass impatiently as Virgil let out a breath of relief.

                “It’s just Nyx,” he groaned as he slowly but shakily got to his feet. His legs were wobbly. Hot and heavy times with Roman tended to do that… though they had yet to take it further. Still on the floor, Roman let out a dramatic sigh.

                “I don’t care if it’s the fucking MACUSA! That scared the hell out of me!”

                Rolling his eyes, Virgil went to the window and let Nyx inside. The cold air cut into his skin and he shut it quickly, hissing irritably as Nyx fluttered over to the edge of the bed. She was staring down at Roman, the letter still caught in her beak. From his place by the window, Virgil could see Roman reach up a hand to give her feathers a soft touch. He smiled; Nyx didn’t get along with other people outside of his family… except Roman. Roman was a special case.

                Happy for attention, Nyx let go over her letter and chirped. Roman, however, sputtered and flailed as a letter fell onto his face.

                “Ack! Virgil!” He sat up with a letter pinched between his fingers. “Teach her to _give_ you the letter. Not drop it on my face.”

                “She likes you,” Virgil shrugged with a smile. He took the letter from Roman, giving his horribly mussed curls and kiss-reddened lips a sly look. “You look _great_ by the way.”

                “Oh?” Roman said with an irritated quirk of his eyebrow. “Do I look beautifully disheveled?”

                “That’s a flowery way of putting it, but sure,” Virgil snickered as he sat on the edge of his bed and opened his letter.

                It was another letter from Uncle Emile. Their correspondence had been more frequent those days. With no attacks to take his attention, Virgil had more than enough time to write his weekly letters. Roman stayed on the floor, quietly scolding Nyx as she attempted to preen his messy curls. Virgil couldn’t help but smile as he read the letter.

                _Virgil,_

_It’s great to hear that things are going well with your new boyfriend! You’ll have to bring him to the office sometime. Or may to Christmas! I’d love to meet him._

_Speaking of Christmas, I might not be able to make it this year. Make sure you tell Logan for me, would you? Our parents are being a little sticky about some details. And there was something about the MACUSA I think. I’ll write your dad and ask him for more information._

_Other than that, I hope school is going well. I’m really happy you found someone! It’s a rare thing to find somebody you feel a good connection with. Keep chugging along and study hard!_

_See you (hopefully) at Christmas!_

_All my love,_

_Emile_

                Part of Virgil was happy… and another part wasn’t. On one hand, Uncle Emile wanted to meet Roman and speak to him. That _could_ be a good thing. But, on the other hand, he might not be coming to the Annual Picani Christmas get-together. That would be the worst option ever. Picani Christmases were hardly tolerable to begin with… and now Emile, the only person that made those Christmases any kind of fun, might not come? Virgil frowned.

                “What is it? Something bad?” Roman asked, his voice pitched toward earnest curiosity. Virgil sighed and laid back on the bed, staring at Roman upside down as he spoke.

                “Meh… it’s my uncle. He wants you to come for Christmas, too.”

                Roman blinked. “And that’s… bad?”

                “No,” Virgil said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. He rolled over so he could properly see the expression on Roman’s face. Anxiety. Maybe a little discomfort. Virgil wanted to fix that. “It’s not bad. I mean, he’s great. You’d _love_ my uncle. But…”

                Roman shifted uncomfortably. “But?”

                “But he might not be coming to Christmas.”

                Roman’s brow furrowed. “I thought… that was your family thing? Like… both sides get together?”

                “Yeah, but… Mr. and Mrs. Picani don’t… like him alt that much.” Virgil sighed and pressed his face into the blankets, speaking into them as he mumbled, “It’s complicated.”

                “Sounds like it,” Roman laughed a little, but the sound didn’t fix the tension in the air. “Look, Virgil… I… I’m glad you asked, but… I don’t want to go if it means my father might hear about it.”

                Virgil stiffened and sat up, giving Roman a long, hard look. “What? Are you embarrassed of me, or something? Can’t let your daddy know you were with the Sanders kid?”

                Roman was understandably offended when he stood up and snapped, “No! It’s not...! Ugh, Virgil, I’m just trying to say that he can get… _difficult_ when I talk about –”

                “What? _Me_?” Virgil asked, hot and hurt.

                “Being gay!” Roman shouted back as he spread his arms wide. “He doesn’t want me to be gay, okay? That’s why he hated it when I wrote to you! He didn’t want me caught up with your parents!”

                Taken aback, Virgil leaned away from Roman’s fiery eyes and stinging words. He looked like he wanted to scream more. To hit something. To cry, maybe. But he didn’t. He just stood next to the bed, huffing and puffing. Virgil didn’t know what to say. His fathers had always encouraged him to explore his sexuality… while Roman had just been denied any kind of sexuality at all.

                Maybe that was one of the small parts of why he didn’t go home for Christmas.

                 Shifting a bit, Virgil tried to meet Roman’s eyes with a level gaze. “We… we don’t have to… tell anyone. That you came with us.”

                Still trembling a bit, Roman’s fisted hands slowly went slack as he muttered, “You really think your dads would be willing to lie to another parent?”

                Virgil winced. “Good point.”

                Sitting down on the bed again, Roman laced their fingers together with a smile. “Look… don’t worry about me. We can write each other, okay? Two weeks is _nothing_.”

                “Yeah.”

                Roman cocked his head to the side and smiled. “And then you’ll be back, and everything will be great again.”

                Virgil hesitated, but repeated, “Yeah.”

                Sidling up to Virgil, Roman plopped his head on his shoulder and let out a tired sigh. “You don’t believe me.”

                “There’s a lot going on,” Virgil muttered, mostly to himself. “I mean… the curse…”

                “Let’s not talk about that,” Roman said crossly as he fiddled with the strings of Virgil’s hoodie. “I just… look, if you have to leave in a few days, then I don’t want to spend that whole time talking about poltergeists.”

                Virgil snorted. “I really doubt a poltergeist is behind the attacks.”

                “Whatever,” Roman said with a flippant wave of his hand. He looped his arms around Virgil’s middle and pulled him down onto the blankets, soft and secure as Roman curled in on him. “Let’s just… forget about it for a while.”

                After a quiet month, it wasn’t difficult to push the curse from his mind. Just for a little while, he curled himself against Roman and closed his eyes. Just for a while… he was safe.

+++++

                Virgil lifted his bag up and over the edge of the carriage quietly. Leaving Ilvermorny had never been a happy experience. There was always something bitter about the way they packed their bags. Fear had driven them away once… and doubt still lingered. Even Patton, who had tried to remain optimistic, was subdued as he sat in the carriage, ready to leave Ilvermorny behind again.

                While he handed Nyx’s cage over to Patton, Virgil heard someone shouting out to them. He turned, seeing Roman sprinting from Ilvermorny’s grand double-doors to send them off. Logan, to his credit, tried not to scowl as Roman approached.

                “Virgil! I wanted…” Roman came to a stumbling stop at Virgil’s feet, still gasping for breath as he said, “I wanted… to say… goodbye!”

                Quirking an eyebrow, Virgil tried to smother a smile as he said, “Oh yeah?”

                After giving Virgil a harsh glare, Roman turned to Patton and smiled. “Mr. Sanders,” then then to Logan, a slightly uneasy smile as he said, “And Mr. Sanders. I hope you both have a Merry Christmas.”

                “Aw, thanks, sport!” Patton said brightly. For the first time in a while, he was genuinely smiling.

                “Thank you,” Logan said curtly. He pretended to busy himself with the carriage harness, but Virgil could see the way he watched them out of the corner of his eye. Virgil struggled to ignore the scrutiny as Roman turned to him and smiled anxiously.

                “So,” Roman said breathlessly. He didn’t say anything else. For once, he was at a loss for words.

                Virgil nodded a few times, swinging his arms at his sides uselessly. “So…”

                From the carriage, Patton heaved a dramatic sigh. “You can kiss him goodbye, Roman. It’s okay.”

                Startled, Roman looked at Logan and took a few steps back. Virgil almost laughed; did he think Logan was going to deck him? Who knew… maybe Logan would. There was still a chance.

                Only half-able to sputter a denial, Roman was holding his hands up in surrender when Virgil walked forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Roman went still beneath him, soft and anxious as he kissed back with as little urgency as possible.

                When Virgil pulled away, Roman’s eyes were wide and starry as he said, “Bye.”

                Smiling a little Virgil nodded and touched Roman’s hand before stepping back. “Bye.”

                Again, Patton let out another sigh as he shook his head. “Boys, boys… it’s not the end of the world. We’ll be back in two weeks.”

                Even Logan let out a low and grumbled, “Such drama.”

                While Roman stuck out his bottom lip in a petulant show of pouting, Virgil smirked and shook his head. For a moment… just like this… things felt normal. Saying goodbye to his boyfriend for Christmas break? Knowing that they were coming back after a tense family Christmas? It was almost like they were a normal family. It was almost… _almost_ like Virgil was a normal teenager.

                Almost like they weren’t standing in the shadow of a curse. _Almost_.

                Roman was swinging his hand back and forth with a sad, sappy smile as he whispered, “Write to me?”

                Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah… you know I will.”

                “Virgil,” Logan said sternly, giving Virgil a look over the rim of his glasses. “We should be going.”

                Patton gave Logan a little nudge with his elbow, and he stage-whispered, “Easy, big boy. You were young, once.”

                Logan sniffed haughtily, ignoring Patton’s snicker of amusement as he fidgeted with the carriage reigns. Taking a deep breath of cold, cold air, Virgil gave Roman one last small smile.

                “Don’t forget me while you’re gone,” Roman joked half-heartedly.

                “That’s kinda impossible,” Virgil said lowly. “You’re too obnoxious to forget.”

                Letting out an irritable huff, Roman stomped his foot and shoved his hands into his pockets as he ordered, “Just call me ‘Princey’ and go away.”

                “Alright, Princey,” Virgil smiled, leaning in to press a shy kiss to Roman’s cheek before he turned and climbed into the carriage. Once he was comfortably seated with the excess folds of his traveling cloak gathered in his lap, Virgil smiled down at Roman. “See you in two weeks.”

                “Two weeks,” Roman smiled, but there was a loneliness there. One that he didn’t dare speak aloud. One that said he wished he’d agreed to go with them. One that wanted to beg to be taken away. But he never said it. Logan snapped the reigns, and Roman simply raised his hand in a slow, leisurely wave as they rode away.

                Virgil pivoted back in his seat, watching the broad castle walls of Ilvermorny. Roman was there, amid the bricks that met each other in neat rows. Amid the gray and white and gray… he was buried there, in the gates of Ilvermorny. Waiting for him to come back.

                Virgil only prayed the curse didn’t claim Roman before he had a chance to see him again.

+++++

                Logan’s alarmed shout was the first thing Virgil registered as they stepped through the door of the house. He whipped around, his wand at the ready and eyes wide and alert… only to see Logan cringing and holding a hand to his lower back. He’d been bending down to pick up his luggage, and then… well, his yell had put Virgil’s nerves on edge.

                Patton was holding his arm, wincing in sympathy as he said, “What is it?” There was a small pause, and Patton frowned. “Ah… your back? What did you do? Strain it?” Virgil quirked an eyebrow. His dad was getting _old._ Patton gave him a sharp look. “Hey. Be nice. He’s in a lot of pain.”

                Logan’s eyes were closed tight as he froze in place in the doorway, still almost bent over as he let out a breath through clenched teeth. “What… did he… think?”

                Patton gave Logan’s shoulder a pat so soft, Virgil doubted he could even feel it. “He says you’re getting… a little old, honey. Since you threw out your back.”

                “I didn’t throw out my back!” Logan said, trying and failing to stand up straight. He let out another groan as Patton rubbed his shoulders soothingly. “And I’m not… _old_. I’m only thirty-eight!”

                “You’re tense,” Patton said softly, trying to coax Logan out of a rant about his age. “Why don’t we get you laid down… I’ll give you a massage! Soothe all those achy muscles, hmm?”

                “ _Ew_ ,” Virgil droned dramatically as he grabbed his bag and headed for the stairs. He took Logan’s luggage, too. He wasn’t in any state to carry it, anyway. He let Nyx out of her cage while he waited for Logan and Patton, opening the window so she could fly and stretch her wings. By the time he peeked his head out into the hall, Logan and Patton were hardly on the third step.

                Sadly, each step was taken with a wince and hiss of pain from Logan. Breeching the top was not celebrated… no, he still had to get into bed. Virgil kept his distance, allowing Patton to take the lead and carefully roll Logan into bed. Once he was propped up in bed with a ridiculous amount of pillows, Patton darted back into the hallway to give Virgil an appreciative smile.

                “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said softly, giving Logan an empathetic smile as his moan of pain echoed into the hallway. Patton turned back to Virgil. “You okay? Need anything?”

                Virgil shrugged. If anything… he missed Roman. They’d been spending so much of their free time together, it felt weird to be left on his own. He wanted to be alone _with_ Roman. Reading in his room would be more fun if Roman was there, reading something with him.

                Obviously hearing all of that, Patton let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, Virgil… you’ve got it _bad_ for that boy.”

                Biting his lower lip, Virgil shoved his hands into his pockets. “Dad doesn’t like him.”

                Patton waved that away. “Logan doesn’t like him because he doesn’t think anyone is good enough for you.” He smiled warmly. “But, deep down, I _know_ he just wants you to be happy.”

                Squirming under all the adoration being thrown his way, Virgil shimmied sideways into his bedroom. “I’m… gonna just chill for a while.”

                Patton laughed at his reaction, adjusting his glasses with a smile as he said, “I’m going to see if I can help Logan with his back… and let’s lay off the teasing, hmm?”

                Virgil narrowed his eyes. “No promises.”

                Another amused chuckle, and Patton was gone, disappearing in to his and Logan’s bedroom. From his room, Virgil could hear the low, soft tones of Patton’s voice, gentle and calm as he tried to help Logan. Then there was the sharp, strict bite of Logan’s voice. Somehow, the sounds melded together, even when Patton spoke over him. Hushing him. Soothing him. Logan’s tones became… softer. Quieter. Almost sheepish as he spoke. Virgil smiled.

                Were he and Roman like that? Clashing at first blush, but carefully fitting into place as time wore on? Virgil blinked as he settled down onto his bed, laying back and twirling his wand between his fingers idly. He and Roman _had_ clashed at first. They’d gone from bitter enemies… to begrudging acquaintances… to friends… to boyfriends. Even if it _had_ started with childish bullying, they’d come a long way.

                And they’d done it all while combatting a curse. Unsuccessfully, of course, but… at least they weren’t dead yet. Things could always be worse.

                Smiling a little Virgil rolled out of bed and dug through his bags. He wanted to write to Roman… tell him about this little revelation. Had Roman noticed it? How far they’d come? Probably. Roman had fallen in love far before Virgil knew what he was feeling. Plus he was hopelessly romantic. He probably thought of sappy stuff like this all the time.

                When there was a bout of tapping against the glass of his window, Virgil pushed his rolling chair away from his desk and set aside his pen. Nyx wanted to come back in. When he turned to the window, however, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t Nyx.

                It was Roman. He was on his broomstick, one gloved hand pressed to the frosted glass of Virgil’s window as he peered inside fearfully. Virgil wasn’t sure what to do. Roman was outside his window. In the freezing cold. His nose and cheeks were red and flecked with snow. He looked one shiver away from falling off his broom.

                Startling back into action, Virgil went to the window and wrenched it open. Once he did, Roman’s anxious expression bloomed into something akin to relieved joy. “Hey,” he breathed.

                Virgil gaped at the sight of Roman nonchalantly hovering outside his window. “Hey,” he breathed in response. Roman shivered.

                “Can I please come in? It’s _really_ cold out here.”

                Virgil didn’t move. He wasn’t sure his legs would work at that moment. “How… how did you get here?” Roman gestured to his broomstick wordlessly, giving Virgil a curious look. Virgil shook his head and sputtered, “B-but… how did you know where our house is?”

                Digging into his coat pocket for a second, Roman procured an old, well-worn envelope. Virgil recognized his own handwriting on the front, and his heart swelled with affection. Roman grinned proudly, letting out a warm, cloudy breath as he said, “I always kept my letters. Your address was never really a mystery.”

                Virgil gave him a long, hard look. “This is _really_ weird.”

                Roman stuff the letter back into his pocket. “I know.”

                “Like… you _said_ you were going to stay at Ilvermorny,” Virgil said sternly. “You said you didn’t want to come with us.”

                “I know,” Roman repeated. His lips were turning an alarming shade of blue, but it didn’t deter him as he said, “But I thought… maybe… I just…” he let out a breath and shivered violently where he hovered. “Please, please, _please,_ let me in. I can’t feel my fingers or toes.”

                Still a little unsure, Virgil took a little step to the side, allowing Roman to glide into the room and set his feet on the floor. Once there, he crumbled into a heap, shivering and shaking as he furiously tried to rub warmth back into his arms and legs.

                Virgil closed the window and grabbed Roman from the floor, plopping him on the bed before wrapping him in all the blankets he could reach. Roman still shook, but now he was a strangely shaped cocoon of blankets and less a person that was turning into a wizard-sicle.

                After a few minutes, he stopped shaking too badly… and Virgil could crawl into the blankets with him. He knew that body heat was one of the best combatants against the cold, and he was never one to pass up a chance to curl up with Roman. So, they wordlessly wrapped around each other, holding the other tight as they hid from the cold over a pile of blankets.

                “Okay,” Virgil said, his voice oddly muffled into their little blanket cave. “I want answers.”

                “Yeah,” Roman said with a soft tremble. His hands went to grab for Virgil’s, and they laced their fingers together as he muttered, “I just… I don’t know. I watched you guys go, and… I don’t know.”

                Virgil frowned. “That’s a really shitty answer.”

                Roman closed his eyes, looking a little defeated as he said, “I just… didn’t want to miss a chance at this. I mean… who knows? Maybe next year, you’ll get tired of me. Then I’ll _never_ get to spend a Christmas with you.”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “That’s… forward-thinking. I guess.” Roman huffed a laugh in response, but it was far from amused. Virgil snuggled a little closer, feeling the cold in Roman’s clothes slowly melting away to make room for warmth. He sighed into Roman’s snow-dampened hair. “But… I don’t think I’ll get tired of you.”

                Roman laughed a little, and the warmth of his breath made their little blanket cave feel muggy and smothering… but Virgil didn’t move. He kept Roman close, scratching at the back of his heavy cloak and breathing deep. He could smell the product in Roman’s hair, along with the smell of snow that was wiping it all away. He closed his eyes, feeling Roman slide a little closer. Blurring the lines… making them one person instead of two tired schoolboys.

                “Hey,” Roman said, his voice low and muffled. Virgil hummed, and Roman pulled back a bit, their eyes meeting in the dark. “Can I kiss you?”

                Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I’m kinda surprised you’re asking.”

                Smirking, Roman pulled himself close again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Virgil’s lips. He melted into it, warmth and cold meeting in a shivering sensation that left him a little breathless. Roman pulled back only to delve back in, kissing him harder. A little deeper. It was almost desperate, like he was eager to please. Or rather… eager to make sure Virgil knew what he wanted to say.

                Humming into the kiss, Virgil let his hands wander down Roman’s sides, sliding over the crest of his hips and pulling them flush against each other. Roman gasped, hot and breathless, before he grabbed Virgil’s hair and tugged him into another messy kiss. Hot, hot, hot… like those long afternoons spent together. A static electric connection that tingled down his spine. The press of Roman’s palms burning through the fabric of his clothes, pulling and pushing...

                A knock at Virgil’s door startled him out of their little reverie, and he lurched out of Roman’s grasp. They weren’t in the privacy of Ilvermorny anymore. They weren’t stowed away in the Puckwudgie dorm. No… they were in the farmhouse. With Virgil’s legillimens father right next door.

                “Virgil,” Patton’s voice was low, gravelly and irritated as he spoke through the door. “Come downstairs. Right now, young man.” There was a pause, and Virgil swore he heard a sigh before Patton said, “And bring Roman with you.”

                Roman was stiff as he whispered, “I’m in _so_ much trouble.”

                “You?” Virgil asked as he threw back the blankets. “ _I’m_ the one who let you in. _I’m_ the one in trouble here.”

                While Roman untangled himself from the blankets, his voice was shaky as he asked, “You… you don’t think he’ll tell my father, do you?”

                Virgil stomach clenched. He didn’t know. Patton was a trusting man and he was always keeping the best-interests of his students in mind… but did that include lying to Roman’s dad? That remained to be seen.

                Turning away, Virgil waved him to the door without a word. Roman followed quietly, fidgeting his with cloak as they stepped out into the hall. Virgil paused, peeking into his parents’ room to see if Logan was still there. Luckily, he was fast asleep against the pillows Patton had piled up for him. Good. If Logan was down in the living room, Roman would spontaneously combust from sheer overwhelming fear.

                When they got to the living room, Patton was waiting in his favorite armchair, massaging his temples as if he had a migraine. Virgil winced; had they caused that? Probably.

                “Take a seat,” Patton said, not bothering to lift his eyes as Roman and Virgil slowly approached the sofa. He looked… well, he looked exhausted. More so than when they’d first arrived at the farmhouse. They’d probably woken him up with… Virgil shifted and stared at the floor. He didn’t want to think about _what_ woke him. Patton, however, was keen on bringing it up. “Just so you know… I’m not angry with either of you.” He hesitated, then lifted his face to give the pair a sharp look. “I’m a little disappointed, yes… but not angry.”

                Sitting forward, Roman was nearly on the edge of the sofa as he said, “Please, please, _please_ don’t tell my father I’m here. He’s going to… he’ll be so –”

                Patton held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not going to say anything to your father. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to hear _anything_ from our family. But,” he said, giving Roman a long look, “You didn’t tell anyone at Ilvermorny that you were leaving.” Roman shrunk in on himself, looking at the floor shamefully. Patton sighed. “We’ll write a letter to them in the morning… letting them know you’re safe and in the company of two teachers.”

                Roman blinked, still looking a little startled as he mumbled, “That… that’s it? You’re not sending me home?”

                Patton scrubbed a hand over his face, looking horribly ruffled as he said, “I… no. No, I’m not. I mean, I don’t _love_ the idea of you staying here… but I don’t want to send you to your father knowing that it’s a hostile environment.”

                Nodding a little, Roman looked down at his lap with a little smile. Virgil let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it was going to be.

                “How _ever_ ,” Patton said stiffly. Ah. There is was. The other shoe was about to drop. “I did _not_ anticipate being woken up by… less-than-savory thoughts about… my own son.” Virgil sent Roman a dark glare, but Roman was busy studying the coffee table with a very red face. Patton sighed. “It was… startling, to say the least. And… oh boy…” he let out another sigh as he scratched a hand through his hair. “I know what it’s like to be young and frisky, okay? I know _exactly_ what’s going on in those heads of yours.”

                “Obviously,” Roman grumbled. “You can read minds.” Virgil elbowed him as Patton sent him a sharp look. Crossing his arms over his chest, Patton sat back in his armchair tiredly.

                “I just want to know… are you two being safe?”

                Virgil’s stomach flopped awkwardly, and he couldn’t quite find the right words to say in response. They hadn’t _done_ anything yet. He and Roman… it was mostly cuddling. Well, maybe a little bit more than that, but… they hadn’t _done_ anything.

                Patton blinked slowly, still looking tired and cranky as he said, “I _know_ you haven’t done anything. I just want to make sure you boys are going to use protection.”

                “I…” Roman squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I have… um…”

                “Good,” Patton said stiffly. “I can’t stop you boys from doing anything… but I want to make sure you’re careful, at the very least.” Standing from his chair, Patton let out a long, sleepy yawn before he said, “Oh, and… if you’re going to do anything… keep it downstairs.”

                Roman and Virgil looked at each other. “Downstairs?” Roman asked, a little baffled. “Why –”

                “Because I don’t want to _hear_ anything,” Patton said darkly, his eyes a little narrowed as he stared off into space. Roman ducked his head, avoiding Patton’s stare as silence settled through the room. Nodding in approval, Patton adjusted his glasses and gave Virgil’s hair a fond pat. “Alright… I’m going back to bed. You two…” he paused, still looking a little discomforted, “You should go to sleep, too.”

                “Right,” Roman nodded, still not daring to meet Patton’s eye. “You’re absolutely right.”

                Patton smiled, and it was more bemused than anything as he said, “At this point, I don’t think flattery will get you anywhere, Roman.”

                Roman seemed to be shrinking where he sat, getting smaller and smaller as he murmured, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

                “We’ll write that letter to Ilvermorny tomorrow…” Another tired yawn, and Patton was heading for the stairs. “Goodnight boys.”

                “Night, Dad,” Virgil mumbled while Roman let out a tiny, “Goodnight, Mr. Sanders.”

                And just like that, they were left alone in the dimly lit living room, staring at each other in awkward silence. After a moment, Roman let out a long breath and said, “Okay… that could’ve been a _lot_ worse.”

                “Yeah. I guess.” Virgil shrugged, standing up from the sofa to stretch his legs. “Still, though… not my finest moment.”

                “He was pretty cool about it,” Roman said as he rubbed his arm tiredly. “I’m… honestly, I’m pretty surprised he didn’t kick me out.”

                Virgil snorted. “Patton’s not the one you need to worry about when it comes to that,” he said with a grin. Going to the hall closet, Virgil found a few spare blankets for Roman to use on the sofa, spreading them out as Roman chewed his fingernail anxiously. Grinning deviously, Virgil tossed a pillow I Roman’s direction, laughing when Roman squawked and fell back onto the cushions. “Just wait until _Logan_ figures out you’re here.”

                Roman flinched away at the mention of his name, grabbing a pillow and hold it to his chest as he whimpered, “Gah! That name! It’s scarier than the curse!”

                Laughing at the melodramatic reaction, Virgil felt something akin to euphoria settle into his nerves. It was warm. And kind. A feeling that he wanted to drown in. The safety and love of his family and Roman… he wanted that safe feeling to last forever.

                But that feeling, as all things, would eventually end.


	16. The Witch's Nest

                “Patton,” said Logan as he stood in the kitchen doorway. His eyes were narrowed, watching the interloper in their dining room suspiciously. Roman had been sitting at the table for nearly ten minutes, studiously watching the tabletop while Logan stared at him. Across the table, Virgil grinned innocently. Logan don’t soften his gaze. “Please explain something to me.”

                Patton was setting a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Roman. “Explain what, honey?”

                Logan frowned. “Why is Roman Prince at my table?”

                Roman looked like he was about to crumble into dust. Virgil’s grin turned smug... until Roman kicked his shin under the table. The table jerked and rattled, and Virgil glared at Roman. But Roman still didn’t look up.

                He leaned forward to hiss, “ _Ow_. Asshole.”

                Roman still looked shaky as he whispered back, “I think your dad is going to hex me.”

                Patton smiles and gave Roman’s shoulder a soothing pat. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he won’t hex you,” he paused, looked off into the distance, then added, “At least... not a bad hex.”

                Roman made strangled, distressed noise in the back of his throat while Virgil snickered. In the doorway, Logan cleared his throat.

                “I don’t think I’m being unreasonable in asking why he’s in our home.”

                Patton smiled and nodded, ducking into the kitchen before he came back out with a cup of coffee for Logan. “He’s staying with us for a few days,” Patton said, giving Logan’s perturbed expression a hard look. “No, we’re not sending him home.”

                Roman sagged a little where he sat, a little relieved. But Logan seemed even more agitated.

                “He’s staying here, during our Christmas holiday, and you’ve just... decided this without me?”

                Patton frowned. “Logan. I don’t want to argue.”

                Logan opened his mouth, keen on shouting something, but stopped short... and shut his mouth. He took a slow, deliberate sip of coffee, keeping his eyes on Patton the entire time. Patton smiled.

                “Your back still hurts,” he said with that soft smile. “Let’s take it easy today. Nothing strenuous.”

                Logan grumbled into his cup, clearly still unhappy, but he didn’t ask about Roman any further. He trudged out of the dining room and too the sofa where he gingerly sat down, his expression laced with pain as he sat back.

                Roman sat quietly, poking at his plate with his fork as he watched the tabletop. He looked embarrassed. No, not embarrassed... he looked sad. Like he was ashamed to be accepted into the Sanders household, even for a few days. It made Virgil’s stomach clenched unhappily.

                “You okay?” He asked, a little anxious to see Roman acting unlike himself. It made everything feel _wrong._ Like Roman wasn’t really Roman. Like the curse had followed them home. But… it had never followed them back to the farmhouse before. It had always been active at Ilvermony. They were safe. They had to be. At least, until they went back to Ilvermony.

                Looking up from his plate, Roman smiled a little. “Fine so far. I mean… your dad hasn’t killed me yet.”

                Virgil snorted and sipped his coffee. “Yet,” he repeated softly, seeing the color drain from Roman’s face.

                In the living room, Patton was standing over Logan, trying to talk calmly. Logan apparently wasn’t in the mood for a serene Thursday morning.

                “What _exactly_ are we supposed to say to my parents?” He said, a little flabbergasted as he tapped his fingers against the side of his cup. Patton cocked his hip to the side calmly.

                “We tell them the truth, of course.” Patton ignored Logan’s irritated sigh and continued with, “We tell them that Virgil’s boyfriend is staying with us for the break.”

                Logan made a noise that implied disbelief as he shook his head. “And you think that would be _fine_ with my parents.” It wasn’t a question.

                Patton tensed. “You think my parents…” he took a step back, a dark, irritated smile on his face. “You think my parents are irresponsible?”

                Logan didn’t look at him. “I didn’t say –”

                “Just because my parents accepted me being gay, it doesn’t mean they’re irresponsible, Logan.”

                Logan looked startled as he raised his eyes to say, “That’s not what I’m saying!”

                “It isn’t?” Patton tilted his head to the side in innocent confusion. “So, you think bringing a boy home to parents isn’t such a bad thing?”

                Logan blinked spastically. “Patton. We’re married. We’re gay.”

                “I know, honey,” Patton smiled. “So… Virgil liking boys shouldn’t be problem, either.”

                “Of _course_ not!” Logan said, still sputtering.

                “Good,” Patton said, nodding calmly. “Roman will be coming with us, then.”

                “I…” Logan blinked, unsure of how they’d arrived at that conclusion. He continued to blink, confused, as Patton walked back into the kitchen with a triumphant bounce in his step. With his brow still furrowed, he looked to Virgil. “I’m confused.”

                Virgil took a slow sip of coffee. “You got played.”

                “Like a fiddle,” Roman added calmly, earning a rather amusing look of surprise from Logan. Leaning across the table, Roman muttered, “Also… was I just invited to your family Christmas thing?”

                “Apparently,” Virgil shrugged, swirling the last splash of his coffee in the bottom of his cup. He hadn’t put enough sugar in it… still too bitter. He set the cup aside and leaned his arms on the table. “I mean… you don’t _have_ to come if you don’t want to. But…”

                “I…” Roman leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “The whole reason I didn’t want to come here in the first place… was because I didn’t want to ruin your family thing. I know… I know it’s a tradition for you guys and…”

                He trailed off quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Virgil could understand the uneasiness. Long ago, before Virgil had been comfortable in his own family, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be included in any family get-togethers. He didn’t want to be rejected. He didn’t want to ruin something special.

                Of course, Patrice’s death had complicated things quite a bit. And now, with the curse still active and strong, Virgil wasn’t sure how _anyone_ was comfortable in their own skin. Roman was a special case, though. He _thrived_ on positive attention.

                Smiling a little, Virgil rested his chin in his palm and said, “You know… I think my grandparents would actually like you.”

                Though Roman went beet red, he smiled proudly and puffed out his chest. “They _would,_ would they? I am pretty great.”

                Virgil rolled his eyes. “And you’re _so_ humble.”

                Roman winked. “You know you love me.”

                Virgil didn’t answer as he hid his face behind his cup. Though, judging from Roman’s responding laugh, he could see Virgil’s smile just fine.

+++++

                “Virgil!” Roman said as he bounced down the stairs in a red, knitted cardigan. “Look what your dad gave me!”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow where he sat on the sofa. “Is… is that my grandma’s sweater?”

                “He can’t wear a cloak to Christmas,” Patton said officially as he descended the stairs with Logan on his arm. “So I gave him that cardigan my mom made for me.” Logan gave him a look, and Patton merely shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

                Roman was busy fidgeting with the zipper, dancing over to Virgil to show him. “Look! No-Maj zipper!”

                Virgil had to scoot over to let Roman sit next to him to _zip, zip, zip_ that damn zipper. “It’s the same as any other zipper, Princey. I don’t know why you’re so freaked out about it.”

                “Because!” Roman said excitably. “It’s a _No-Maj_ zipper!”

                Looking to his dads, Virgil said with a deadpan expression, “I changed my mind. Can we just leave him here?”

                Logan looked at Patton pleadingly. “Please?”

                “No!” Patton and Roman said together. Roman fell against Virgil’s arm, holding tight as Patton said, “We’re not leaving Roman in the farmhouse while we go have fun. We’re going _together_ and we’re going to have a _great_ time. Aren’t we, honey?” He looked at Logan sharply, and Logan could do nothing but sigh in defeat.

                “Yes, dear,” he muttered as he jingled his house keys irritably.

                Patton nodded with a smile, ushering Virgil and Roman to the doorway as he said, “Alright! Ground rules: No talking about magic. No calling people ‘No-Majs’ and, if people ask about school, you aren’t allowed to say anything specific.”

                Roman was practically vibrating with excitement as he bounced on his heels. “I’m so excited. My first Christmas with _No-Majs!_ ”

                Virgil snorted. “It’s pretty chill, actually. Just… don’t talk about magic.”

                “Got it,” Roman said, his grin bright and wide as he looked at Virgil. It wavered for a second when he said, “Am… am I allowed to say that… uh…” He paused and looked away. “Never mind.”

                Frowning, Virgil looked to Patton for an answer. Patton rolled his eyes. “He wants to know if he can call himself your boyfriend, sweetie.”

                Logan stiffened, still obviously uncomfortable, but didn’t say anything. Thank god. Squirming under the scrutiny, Roman pointedly stared at the front door. Virgil discretely took his hand and muttered, “Yeah. That’s fine with me… if it’s cool with you.”

                Roman chuckled lowly and it made Virgil’s stomach do a strange flip. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

                “Good,” Logan snapped, trying to end the conversation. He glanced at his watch, a little miffed when he saw the time. “Now that we have _that_ settled… we should be going.”

                Buttoning his own coat, Patton gave Roman a sharp look. “You haven’t gotten your Apparition license, yet. You’ll be coming with me, Roman.”

                Logan held out an arm for Virgil, and Virgil instinctively took it, hardly having a second to brace himself as Logan Apparated. He felt the familiar lift of his feet off the ground and the rush of air in his ears before they settled into the peacefully, snowy suburbs. He managed to catch his footing just fine, gripping Logan’s arm tight as they stood on the sidewalk.

                Roman and Patton appeared a second later, the air around them warping as they dropped onto the material plane. Roman, who only had a cardigan to shield himself from the cold, wrapped his arms around himself and shivered as he stared in awe. Virgil quirked an eyebrow; had he really never seen a normal, non-magic neighborhood? Probably not. Piaza Pass was packed tightly together like a busy city with growing pains… things were spread out, here. Quiet. And calm.

                “Wow,” Roman breathed as he eyed the cars lined along the pavement. He pointed at one, giving the snow-dusted windshield a baffled look. “They… they’re so much smaller than I thought they’d be.” When he caught a glance of a minivan, he lowered his hand and let out a cloudy, amazed look. “Never mind. That one’s big.”

                Patton sniffled with a smile as he ushered them up the sidewalk. “They come in all sorts of sizes, Roman. Let’s get inside before you freeze.”

                “I’m fine,” Roman insisted, only to shiver as the wind blew through him. “Just… a little chilly.”

                Logan clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No. You should have been given a real coat.”

                Patton gave him a cross look as he rang the doorbell. “Well… I’m sure I could’ve _given_ him one if _someone_ hadn’t been in such a hurry to leave.”

                Logan turned a little pink as he ducked his chin into his collar. He didn’t say anything else as Roman and Virgil smirked at each other. This dynamic was an interesting one, to say the least.

                The door swung open to reveal Grandma Sanders, just as usual. Still small, still plump, still grinning with those same warm, happy laugh-lines. Now, she wore a pair of thick-lensed glasses; an addition in the last two years. She saw all four of them and beamed.

                “Oh, Patty!” She said, holding up her thin arms for a hug. Patton ducked in to embrace her, patting her back as she giggled. When he stood back, Grandma Sanders finally gave Roman a look, long and assessing as she raised a thin eyebrow. “Ah… there’s one more of you, this year.”

                Roman flushed, his mouth gaping for a moment before he could squeak: “Prince!”

                Grandma Sanders made a face. “Excuse me?”

                “Roman Prince!” Roman sputtered as he shimmied over until he could partially hide behind Virgil’s larger frame. Virgil could barely smother a smile as Roman muttered, “I’m… Roman… Prince.”

                Fidgeting a bit, Virgil scratched at cuffs of his sleeves, looking at his grandmother anxiously as he said, “He’s um… my… boyfriend.”

                Immediately, a wide smile spread over Grandma Sanders’ face. “Oh, I was _wondering_ when you’d bring someone home for Christmas!”

                This seemed to startle Roman. Why would he be rejected? Patton and Logan were gay and _they_ weren’t concerned. Maybe Roman was simply used to being pushed away or smothered under the weight of his fathers’ homophobia. He didn’t know what it was like to have a family that accepted him without concern. Virgil almost felt sad for him; Roman was a natural lover. He had so much to _give_. He was just so unused to receiving.

                Completely unaware of Virgil’s internal epiphany, Grandma Sanders waved them in. “Come on, come on! Get out of the cold.” She ushered them inside, grabbing ahold of Roman’s arms before he could duck away and hide in a corner. “So… Roman, wasn’t it?”

                Roman glanced at Virgil, almost looking like a man lost at sea. “I… yes, ma’am.”

                “Oh!” Grandma Sanders held a hand to her chest with a smile. “He has manners!”

                “Astounding,” Logan deadpanned as he hung up his coat. Patton nudged him with his elbow, and Logan said no more.

                Grandma Sanders ignored him as she gave Roman’s arm a pat. “You look like a good boy. Are you in school?”

                Roman flushed and smiled that pretty smile. “Yes, I am, ma’am.”

                Grandma Sanders nodded approvingly. “And you study hard?”

                “Of course, ma’am.”

                She nodded again, taking up Roman’s hand to give it a pat. “Good. You work hard and be good to my grandson. He’s a sensitive boy. Always has been. And I just want him to be happy, so –”

                Virgil stuffed his hands into his pockets as Grandma Sanders went on and on about how important it was that Virgil be happy in his growing years. It was almost like she was giving Virgil away and this was his wedding day. Familial advice for the newlyweds? They’d only been dating for a month. Still… the way Roman listened intently and nodded fondly made Virgil feel warm and fuzzy. He was taking it as seriously as Grandma Sanders, earnestly agreeing to take care of Virgil through thick and thin.

                Leaning against the hall wall, Patton smiled at his mother and Roman fondly. He leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder and sighed, “Brings back memories, huh, honey?”

                Virgil quirked an eyebrow and gave Logan an interested look. Logan smothered a smile as he adjusted his glasses and said, “The… ahem… the first time Patton brought me to meet his parents, I was met with a… very similar lecture.”

                Rocking back on his feet, Virgil gave his grandma a bashful look. “Grandma… we’ve only been dating like… a month.”

                Grandma Sanders looked up from where she’d been lecturing Roman to give Virgil a mischievous grin. “Boys are always rambunctious! I need to give you this advice while I have you here. I don’t need you running off and eloping like _these_ two.” She pointed at Logan and Patton, the latter of which immediately blushed and sputtered an excuse.

                “Mom!” He squeaked, looking more flustered than Virgil had seen him in a while. “It was… spur of the moment! We were… i-it was…!”

                Grandma Sanders waved him away, already tugging Roman down the hallway. “Come on, sweetie! I need you to meet my husband.”

                Roman obediently followed her, but kept throwing looks at Virgil over his shoulder. Those looks weren’t angry or scared… he just looked amused. Like he was already having a marvelous time. Virgil huffed a laugh as he trudged along behind them… Roman _was_ having a good time. Grandma Sanders already approved of him. The evening already counted as a win in their books.

                As Grandma Sanders toted Roman into the kitchen to meet Grandpa Sanders, Virgil hung back by the doorway, watching the way Roman looked up at his grandfather in awed respect. Roman introduced himself. They shook hands. Grandpa Sanders leaned in to say something quietly, and Roman looked horrified. Grandpa Sanders laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Virgil smirked; he’d probably brought up magic. That was sure to startle Roman.

                Pushing away from the wall, Virgil glanced at where Patton was surrounded by his siblings and exchanging hugs and greetings. Logan had broken off from the group to speak with one of Patton’s sisters. Tiny children and shrieking preteens scrambled around the living room, playing some sort of make-believe as Uncle Joe snored in the recliner. Virgil made a mental note to warn Roman about _him._

                “Virgil!” Grandpa Sanders greeted, all warm laughter and messy, curled silver hair. Virgil smiled and let himself be pulled into a sideways hug. “How ya doin’, kiddo? Did you grow _again_?”

                Virgil laughed awkwardly, feeling Roman take his hand and hold it tight. “I think my growth-spurt is over, Grandpa.” He glanced at Roman. “I, uh… I guess you met Roman.”

                “Oh boy, did I!” Grandpa Sanders chuckled as he turned to the stove and stirred a pot of mashed potatoes. “Maria was damn insistent that I meet him.” He paused for a moment, then laughed. “It’s just like when Patton brought Logan home for the first time!”

                “So I’ve heard,” Virgil muttered with a roll of his eyes. He glanced to Roman, seeing him scanning the room with wide-eyed wonder. He squeezed Roman’s hand. “Hey… you good?”

                “There’s so many _people_!” Roman breathed excitably as he smiled at kids running through the living room and into the dining room. “And it’s so… _bright_. And _warm_.” He looked to Virgil, and the awe in his eyes was almost heartbreaking as he asked, “Are all of your Christmases like this?”

                Virgil could only blink in surprise. Roman really didn’t know what a happy family Christmas was. Had his Christmases _always_ been tense? Had his father _always_ been bitter and controlling? He didn’t know. All he could do was press his lips together tightly and duck his chin.

                However, Grandpa Sanders stepped up to the plate and said, “This is a Sanders’ family Christmas. You’re gonna have to get used to unconditional love, kiddo.”

                Roman blinked spastically before letting out a loud, giddy laugh. “Yes, sir! I think I like the sound of that!”

                Something bloomed in Virgil’s chest; maybe love. Maybe something warmer. Soft and sweet as he looked down at Roman’s bright, smiling face. He wanted to keep that. To let the rest of the world just fall away as he kept Roman’s smile and put it on the display, bright like the stars. To let him sing away his troubles and bring music to the world that no one had ever seen coming.

                It painted an interesting picture, Roman and his family. Bright, loud colors mixed in with Virgil’s subdued, dark pastels. Sweet, soft melodies mixed with bubbling laughter. The sugary taste of fruit before the bite of citrus… and then the snap. It was almost alarming, the affection that washed over him… was that love? Unconditional, like Grandpa Sanders had said? Maybe. Maybe not.

                After a few minutes, Roman pulled Virgil out of the kitchen, pointing at the flat-screen TV in the living room giddily. Virgil laughed. Real. Warm. Unhalted. Roman held his hand, watched the children laugh and play. He spoke to Virgil’s aunts and uncles, introducing himself as “Virgil’s boyfriend” in a way that made Virgil’s chest tight with anxious excitement.

                People smiled. They pat Virgil’s shoulder. Congratulated him. It was family. It was love. Something about it felt eerily out of place in their current state of affairs. A curse was breathing down their necks. A mystery attacker was strangling the life out of them.

                And yet. And _yet._

                 Virgil stood in the living room, allowing his aunt Abigail brush hair from his eyes with that warm, loving smile. He laughed when Uncle Paul noted the difference in his and Roman’s heights. His hands were sweaty… but neither he nor roman pulled away. They held tight and fast. Like they both knew it could only last so long. A Christmas celebration held at the edge of the world. A laugh expelled until no breath was left in their lungs.

                Breathless and face covered in tears as the world came crashing down.

                Without warning, Virgil snatched his hand away from Roman and ducked out of the room. He heard his parents calling after him, telling him to stop. He heard relatives so quiet and murmur concerned words. But he couldn’t make himself care. He couldn’t breathe. The world was getting too small around him. Everything was going to end. The curse was one step away and he was already at the end of the line… nowhere to run.

                “Virgil,” Roman’s voice cut through him as he opened up the front door and marched out into the cold, winter air. He heard footsteps on the front porch, following him. The _crunch_ of snow underfoot. He gasped for breath, trying to stop his frantic worry. “Virgil! What are you _doing?_ It’s freezing out here!”

                “I can’t,” Virgil gasped, his hands wringing as he stopped short and stomped his feet. “I just…! The curse, Roman!”

                Roman stood a few steps away, his hands extended as if to offer help… but unsure of how to give it. “The… the curse,” he repeated, as if he were confused.

                “The curse!” Virgil shouted, his voice loud in the empty streets. Roman winced and glanced around, seeing if anyone heard them, but Virgil didn’t care. His sweater was too tight. His heart hurt where it pounded in his chest. He pushed a shaking hand through his hair. “It’s… it’s right there! What are we doing?” He looked up at Roman, wide-eyed and frantic. “What are we _doing?”_

                Roman blinked. “We’re… we’re celebrating Christmas.”

                “While there’s a curse trying to _kill us!_ ” Virgil screeched, still trembling as he stopped and tried to breathe. Roman took a step forward, trying to help, but Virgil flinched away from him. Roman stepped back. “I… every time… _every time_ something good happens, it comes back.” He shuddered, and Roman stayed quiet. “I’m… _fuck_ , Roman… this is so stupid, and I’m… I’m just…”

                “Virgil,” he said, soft and sure as he held out his hands. And open invitation. Virgil felt his breath hitch in preparation to cry. He tried to smother it. But Roman’s worried expression pushed the first, warm tears over the edge.

                “I’m trying…” Virgil whispered, his breath hanging in the air like smoke. “Trying to _forget_ about it,” his voice caught and cracked, and he angrily pushed tears from his face as he stomped his foot angrily. “But I can’t! I can’t just… _Christmas_ it away. I can’t just…”

                “Virgil.”

                He raised his eyes to see Roman watching him. His arms were still open, his face painfully concerned. The red cardigan hung loosely on him, making him seem even smaller than he was… but even so. He looked big, standing there like that. Waiting for Virgil. Like a man ready to take on the world to save him. Ready to wash away all fear if it meant Virgil could breathe.

                Falling forward, Virgil pressed himself into Roman’s arms and curled down over him. With his forehead on Roman’s shoulder and his hands fisted against his chest, he let out an aching, shaking sob as Roman’s arms wrapped around him. Grounding and holding him to reality… but reality was still cruel. The curse was still prevalent. They couldn’t change that. Virgil cried. Roman let him.

                After a few minutes, Virgil felt his gasping breathing smooth out into deep, shaky breaths. His tears felt like they were freezing to his cheeks. They probably were. He didn’t care. He swallowed thickly, pressing his cheek to Roman’s shoulder as he caught his breath.

                Twinkling Christmas lights lit up the neighborhood around them. In that low light of Christmas eve, the lights were hazy and misted. Cold and frosty in the bitter air as Virgil blinked. Another lonely tear fell onto Roman’s cardigan, and the light reflected off the shimmery tear before the fabric absorbed it. Never to be seen again.

                “I know a spell,” Roman said after a moment. Virgil didn’t lift his head. “It’s supposed to help people feel brave when bad things happen.”

                Virgil sniffled and smiled as he said, “We’re not allowed to use magic outside of school, smart guy.”

                Roman’s hands gripped the back of Virgil’s sweater as he said, “It’s not a spell done with a wand. It’s better.”

                Virgil frowned as he stood up straight, wiping the tears from his face as he grumbled, “If you’re going to kiss me and ‘make the bad stuff go away,’ I’m gonna take a hard pass.”

                Roman grimaced. “Well… look at you. Ruining my plans before I put them into action. I guess I’m too predictable.” He shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering a little. “Can’t believe I’ve been foiled by my own hubris.”

                Virgil sniffed again, feeling the chill settle in now that his nerves had settled. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up as he looked back to the house. “We… we should go back in. I can only imagine how many of my aunts and uncles have looked at us through the windows.”

                Roman stiffened and went a little red. “Do… do you think they saw me almost slip on the ice? Because I almost fell on my ass when I was trying to chase you.”

                “Probably,” Virgil laughed shakily as he started to walk back to the front door. Roman followed him quietly, walking back up the stairs and waiting patiently as Virgil opened the door for them. Once they were safely inside where the cold couldn’t reach them, Virgil leaned against the wall and muttered, “Hey, um… I’m sorry about…”

                “Don’t worry about it,” said Roman softly as he gave Virgil a fond smile. “If I were in your place, I’m pretty sure I’d be just as scared. If not more.”

                Virgil hummed, shuffling his foot tiredly. Roman watched him for a moment, still smiling as he eyed Virgil’s expression. He knew Virgil was waiting for something. He stood at the ready, happy to comply as Virgil lifted his eyes.

                “Hey,” Virgil finally said, hardly louder than a whisper. No one would be able to hear them. They were all in the living room, loud and celebrating as the two boys stood in the entryway, stuttering and anxious as Virgil said, “I think… maybe I changed my mind about a kiss.”

                Clicking his tongue, Roman wagged his finger to and fro. “No, no… _magic_ kiss. It’s a spell to make you feel better!”

                Virgil rolled his eyes. “Just get over here, drama queen.”

                And he did. He laughed as he fell forward against Virgil, stretching up on his tiptoes to press a giggly, chaste kiss to Virgil’s lips. Warm and real. Grounding… if only for a while.

+++++

                “So, Roman,” Grandpa Sanders said as he passed the green beans down the table. “You still in school?”

                Next to Virgil at the table, Roman tensed. Virgil could almost feel the anxiety in his words as he said, “Yes, sir.” Virgil could only guess that Roman was afraid of giving away their wizarding secret. He wouldn’t, though. Patton and Logan were listening intently to the conversation, keeping tabs on all of Roman’s responses as they nonchalantly ate.

                Grandpa Sanders knew to avoid specifics and nodded happily as he took a bite of stuffing. “Good kid. Good to stick in school.”

                “Big talk from a high school dropout,” Grandma Sanders said as she smiled at her husband.

                The table erupted in laughter, and Virgil could feel the happiness radiating off of Roman as he smiled and laughed along. For a little while, the curse was being set on the backburner. For tonight… they were a normal family. They were free. And Virgil was sitting at the table with his family… and his first boyfriend. It made his heart feel so full that it might break.

                Grandpa Sanders sniffed as the laughter died down, giving Roman a sidelong look as he said, “Any ideas about college?”

                Again, Roman tensed. But this was less about wizardry and more about his own familial conflicts. “I… I had thought about it, but…”

                At the other end of the table, Uncle Paul gave Roman a baffled look. “You can’t _not_ get your degree! These days, it’s impossible to get a good job without one!”

                Roman squirmed in his chair, watching his plate as Paul’s wife told him to ‘leave the poor boy alone!’ Virgil gave him a sidelong look, almost ready to reach out and take his hand. But Roman looked bitter and determined as he said, “I… I _want_ to go to college. I want to get a higher education. But…” he paused, his eye twitching as he frowned. “My father wants me to take over the family business.”

                The table lost a bit of volume as several people paused to give Roman an interested look. They probably didn’t know what that was like. Grandpa Sanders ran a bakery, and surely, if he wanted one of his children to take over the business, one of them would jump at the chance. Roman didn’t have that luxury. He was an only child. The only one would could continue his fathers’ legacy.

                Abigail was smiling as she said, “What do you want to study in college?”

                Roman looked up, hopeful and bright as he met her eye. Virgil couldn’t help but smile into his water glass; Roman had only ever been able to talk about his dreams to Virgil. And now he had the entire Sanders clan on the edge of their seats as he talked about his dream job.

                “I… I want to study music,” he said, his smile so wide and excited, it could be heard in his words. A few people at the table murmured in interested tones, and Roman basked in the attention. He leaned forward at the table, animatedly saying, “I want… I _really_ want to be a music teacher at Ilvermorn… I mean, at school. Or maybe I could try theater! I’ve always loved the stage, but… music has a special place in my heart.”

                At this point, almost the entire table was listening to Roman with a smile on their face. They couldn’t help it. He had that inevitable draw. That magnetism that pulled people in and made them fall in love. Virgil wouldn’t be surprised if someone other than him loved Roman before the night was over.

                “Hold up, hold up,” Uncle Sam said with a scrutinizing tone. “Can he even sing?”

                “He can,” Virgil said before he could stop himself. All attention was immediately turned to him, and he ducked away from their stares as he muttered, “I mean… I’ve heard him. A few times.”

                Roman laughed quietly, and the sound made Virgil’s heart flutter. Across the table, Patton gave him a knowing look, and Virgil could only duck his chin and stare at his plate as Patton smiled. The table settled into routine conversation again, and Roman fell into step with them. Like part of the family… without even trying, he melded in. He was loved. Virgil could only hope that would last.

                At the head of the table, Grandpa Sanders kept up his little interrogation with Roman. It was peaceable, but Virgil could see the glint in Roman’s eyes. Desperate to please. He smiled when his grandfather leaned forward and pushed further.

                “To be a teacher you’ll need good grades,” he said sternly, giving Roman a long, thoughtful look. “Keepin’ up with your classes?”

                Roman beamed. “Of course, sir! I’m always on top of my studies.” He sent Virgil a sidelong look. “I mean… I get better scores than _someone_.”

                Virgil made a face as he turned his fork over and over. “In all subjects except _one_.”

                Roman glowered. “No-Maj studies are hard.”

                Immediately, Roman realized his mistake. He went stiff and wide-eyed as a few people at the table laughed at his expression. Far down the table, Uncle Paul laughed and said, “ _What_ studies?”

                “Mathematics,” Patton said quickly. Almost too quickly. He covered the reaction by taking a calming sip of wine. Uncle Paul simply laughed.

                “Jeez… the way you said it, it almost sounded like a different language!” He said, all bright smiles and nonchalant laughter.

                Roman echoed the laugh, but it was tight and uneasy. “Right. It’s just… not my favorite subject.”

                And that was where it stopped. The line that marked what he could say… and what he couldn’t. It was a little sad to see Roman contained like this when he’d been so free only moments before. The conversation steered away from schooling, moving onto the agreeable topic of Virgil’s cousins. Roman ate quietly, smiling politely and nodding when asked for his opinion. But otherwise subdued.

                Reaching out, Virgil touched the back of his wrist and smiled a little. “Hey… you can talk about Ilvermorny at the Picani place, if you want.”

                Roman huffed a laugh, giving Virgil a sly smile. “Will I even be able to get a word in?”

                Virgil pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Good point.”

                Laughing a little, Roman’s true bright personality shone through as he gave Virgil a smile. “Well, at least I still get to spend a little more time with you.”

                Virgil smiled. That tight, uneasy smile that made him remember the weight of their situation. The curse, the time, the limits of this… it was all bound and tied with a neat bow. He wanted to fall through the axis and land on a better plane. A better place. A place where they weren’t all afraid.

                But didn’t have such a luxury.

                Instead, he ate his Christmas meal and listened to the bright, excited voices of his extended family. He watched Logan and Patton lean into one another, saying soft, warm things to the other with relaxed smiles. He listened as Roman enthusiastically described his love of storytelling and music. He smiled when people asked him about his schooling. He was happy for a moment.

                And even if it was just a moment, it would do.

+++++

                Patton made quick work of smoothing the front of Roman’s traveling robes. They were a deep burgundy color. It brought a splash of color to their grim little entourage. Even so, no one was happy about this development. No… it was time to see the Picani Estate. And with no guarantee that Uncle Emile would be there, it was doubly unappealing.

                “Okay,” Patton said, his voice shaking a bit as he reached up to comb a hand through Virgil’s hair. Virgil had to bend down a little, but Patton didn’t mind. They were both used to it. “Okay… I think we’re ready to go.”

                “Before we leave,” Logan said stiffly. “Please… don’t take what my parents may say to heart.”

                “They mean well,” Patton stepped in, trying to clear the tension in the air with a smile. “Well… in their own… strange way.”

                Logan frowned and pushed up his glasses on his nose. “And… avoid the topic of the attacks. I’m sure they’ve already gotten wind of the situation, and I don’t want to fan the flames, as it were.”

                Roman and Virgil nodded mechanically. They both knew what was coming. Virgil had complained about Mr. and Mrs. Picani countless times before. At this point, Roman might as well already know them.

                Being ushered forward, Virgil took Logan’s arm once again. They Apparated quickly with that same dizzying, nauseating twist of his stomach as he felt his feet land on foreign soil. He blinked up at the dark, starry sky. The Estate was just as large and formidable as ever. And the trees that lined the property were dark and foreboding. The lights in the windows were bright… but something was off. Something… _something_ didn’t sit right in the air.

                Patton and Roman appeared next to them within a fraction of a second. Roman stumbled back a half a step, marveling at the sight of the Estate. Patton, however, looked confused.

                “The front door is open,” he said softly. Virgil followed his gaze, seeing the front door standing wide open. They weren’t even on the front step… no one was standing in the doorway waiting for them. Vigil frowned. The air was thick. Unhappily. Frightened. Patton reached out to touch Logan’s arm as he murmured, “Why… why is the front door open?”

                Without warning, Logan pulled his wand from his sleeve with a _snap_. He stepped in front of their group with careful, concise steps, approaching the Estate. “Patton,” he said lowly. “Stay with the boys.”

                Patton’s eyes went wide, and he pulled out his own wand with a flourish. “Oh, like _hell_ I’m letting you go in their alone.” He cast a quick glance at Virgil and Roman, holding out a hand to stop them. “Stay here, boys.”

                Virgil’s stomach twisted. No. No, they couldn’t stay. Something bad would happen if they all separated. If anyone was qualified to say so, it was Virgil. His skills in Divination were second to none. Patton knew that.

                Looking back and forth between Logan and his son, Patton made an anxious face. “Okay, okay… just stay close. Wands at the ready.”

                Virgil and Roman complied, taking out their wands as they carefully approached the house behind Logan. He paused on the threshold, peering into the house with frightful suspicion… and then stepped inside.

                “Mother?” He called into the endless entryway, his voice echoing off the high, high ceilings. Patton stepped over the threshold behind him… and froze. Logan didn’t notice this. “Father? Where are you?”

                “Logan,” Patton breathed, still in the doorway and blocking Virgil and Roman’s entrance. Virgil felt sick. Something was _terribly_ wrong. Fight-or-flight was screaming at him. He needed to run. Hide. What was Patton doing?

                Logan turned on his heel to give Patton a cross look. “Patton, where are they?”

                “I don’t know,” Patton gasped, his hands going to his head as he looked around frantically. “I can’t… I can’t _hear_ any of you, I can’t…!” He paused, giving Virgil a horrified look as he whispered, “The… the only time this happened before was…”

                Virgil felt himself stepping back, eager to get away from the house, only to run into Roman. He grabbed Virgil’s arms… but his hands were shaking. He was scared, too. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Roman’s eyes were wide and frightened. Virgil gripped his wand a little tighter, looking to his parents for assistance.

                Patton was no help. He was just as confused as everyone else. Even if there was an intruder in the house, he couldn’t hear them. Mr. and Mrs. Picani were missing in action. The house was eerily quiet… and no one liked that.

                Taking a couple cautious steps further into the house, Logan peeked into the doorway of the parlor. And then he froze. “Emile?” He said, sounding breathless and scared. Virgil had rarely seen him like that. And he didn’t like the implications. Logan rushed into the parlor, leaving the rest of them cowering in the doorway as he shouted, “Emile!”

                Patton frantically followed. And Virgil, not quite sure why he did it, did the same. He ran to the parlor doorway, halting when he saw Uncle Emile’s body laid out on the floor, limp and unmoving as Logan shook his shoulders and cried his name. Another person dead? Did that mean Mr. and Mrs. Picani had been murdered, too? Was the murderer still in the house?

                “Oh my god,” Roman breathed, his voice quivering as he took a tiny step back. “Oh my _god_ …”

                “Well!” A new voice rang through the air, causing Virgil to jump and spin on his heel. Behind him, in the dark hallway, stood… Uncle Emile. With a wand caught between his fingers and a dark smile on his face, he spoke in a sing-song voice. “You’re _early_! I thought you’d arrive at 8 o’clock, but…” he laughed through clenched teeth as he fiddled with his wand. “You got here earlier than I expected.”

                This was it. This was the curse. The doppelgänger that took his father’s face. The one that pretended to be Roman. The one that took Principal Remulus’ eyes and burned their gold into his soul. The attacker, the plotter… it all came down to this one person.

                The fake Emile didn’t waste time. He flicked his wrist, and Virgil felt himself sailing through the air, flying back and into the parlor without warning. He hit the wall hard, crumpling on the ground as Roman hit a bookshelf and cried out in pain.

                “Virgil!” Patton cried, his voice far away in the closed space. Virgil felt hands on his face, warm and frantic as Patton tried to soothe the pain.

                His eyes cracked open to see Logan standing over his brothers’ body, shaking with fury and grief as the fake Emile stood in the doorway, calm and smiling.

                “Mr. Picani,” the fake said brightly. “Good to see you again.”

                Magic hung in the air like a physical thing, sparking and furious as Logan aimed his wand at the intruder. “What did you do to him?” The fake said nothing, and Logan screamed, “ _What did you do to my brother?”_

                Fake Emile cocked his head to the side, like he was amused. “You’re really stuck on him… which is interesting.” He tapped the end of his wand against his open palm. “Because… _you’re_ the one in trouble right now.”

                Logan didn’t have a chance to brace himself as the fake flicked his wand to the side. Logan flew sideways into another bookshelf, hitting the wood so hard that Virgil was sure it _cracked_ under his weight. Once he hit… he fell to the ground. He didn’t get back up.

                Virgil grabbed Patton’s arms, trying to hold him in place as Patton cried Logan’s name. Over and over, like that would make him get up from the floor. The fake Emile gave Logan’s body an appraising look… and then his eyes slid over to Patton. He smiled, and the sight was sickening.

                “Does it hurt?” the fake Emile asked, his face changing and morphing into something else. It was almost nauseating to see the change in features… like someone was sculpting a face in front of them… twisting things briefly and re-coloring hair until it was… Logan. Virgil watched his fake father in horror, seeing the way he smiled wryly and asked, “Does it hurt to know that they’re suffering?”

                Patton had his wand held out, as if he would defend them, but the violent shake of his hand said otherwise. There were tears streaming down his face. His breathing was ragged and scared. He probably wouldn’t be able to dictate a spell if he wanted to.

                The fake Logan hummed and smiled as he stepped forward to kick Emile’s foot. “It must be _agonizing_ … not being able to hear their thoughts.”

                Patton’s breath caught, and Virgil saw his lips tremble as he said, “H… how…?”

                Fake Logan smiled again, that thin, angry smile. “I made myself a little charm. Impressive, isn’t it? A spell to _neutralize_ legilimancy.”

                Patton looked one breath away from fainting. The doppelgänger grinned toothily.

                “I wonder if I’d be named a hero by the MACUSA,” he mused as he stepped over Emile’s limp body. “I’d be the man that ‘Fixed’ the legilimens issue.”

                Only a few feet away, Roman was pushing himself up onto his hands and knees as he growled, “He… doesn’t need to be… fixed!”

                The fake Logan raised his eyebrows. “Aw… how chivalrous! Sadly… you’re not part of this plan. Sorry.” With pointed his wand at Roman. Virgil’s stomach dropped. The doppelgänger wore his fathers smile as he said, “ _Crucio_.”

                Crying out in pain, Roman spasmed and hit the floor, writhing in agony as the spell sent waves of pain through him.

                “Roman!” Virgil screamed, lunging for him in hopes of helping him.

                “Stop!” Patton howled, his voice cracked and ragged as he cried, “He’s just a child! Please! Please stop!”

                Almost like he was amused by Patton’s tears, the fake Logan turned away from Roman. The spell stopped, leaving Roman gasping for breath and trembling as he stared up at the ceiling, horrified. Virgil’s hands brushed over his face, trying to meet his eye as he Roman shivered with aftershocks.

                “Roman,” he breathed, trying to find a familiar glint in those cloudy, pain-hazed eyes. “Roman. Look at me. You’re going to be okay. I promise. You’re okay.”

                Roman whimpered, still shaking with shock and pain. Virgil couldn’t do anything more. He had no way to soothe him. He looked to Patton, unsure of what more could be done. Patton had to answer to give him. He simply stared at the attacker with wide, uncertain eyes.

                Shaking, Patton’s wand was still at the ready as he said, “Who… who are you?”

                The fake smiled, spreading his arms wide as he looked at Patton through Logan’s eyes. “Really? You’d attack your husband?”

                “You’re not my husband!” Patton screamed, his hand shaking even more as he gasped, “ _Who are you_? Why… _why_ are you doing this to us?”

                The doppelgänger smiled. “You know me, Patton Sanders. You _know_ why I’m doing this.”

                Patton went quiet, his eyes wide and teary as he breathed, “I don’t understand.”

                Logan’s facial features started to melt away. The pale skin of his face toned down into something a little tanner, and a large, brown birthmark was spread across the left side of his face. His hair was darker. His eyes were not nearly as kind. He changed… and finally, Virgil saw the true face of his curse.

                He was just a man.

                “Doyle,” he said with a smile that sent shivers down Virgil’s spine. “Doyle Dempsey. Does that name ring a bell?”

                Patton’s eyes went wide. “You… you were –”

                Doyle grinned, all sharp teeth and sharper eyes. “Sent to prison… because of _you_.” He rounded the far side of the room, giving Logan’s limp body a tired look before he said, “I could’ve made a _killing_ off the ransom. But this… _boy_ … had to go and spoil the fun.”

                He gave Logan’s side a nudge, grimacing at Logan’s slack expression and closed eyes. Virgil blinked; two men had kidnapped Logan when he was young. _Doyle_ was the other man? The one that survived Logan’s fearful escape. The one remaining to bear the brunt of the charges. Doyle looked unimpressed as he glared down at Logan.

                “I could’ve done something with my life with the money from the Picani’s,” he said. “I could have _been_ someone.” Doyle turned back to Patton, his smile long gone. “And then… _you_ stepped into the picture.”

                “I was…” Patton sputtered, feebly trying to defend himself. “I was just… doing as I was told, I…”

                “Do you know how _long_ I sat in that prison?” Doyle asked, his voice almost coy as he watched Patton. “Do you know how I _suffered_ in that cell? Surrounded by _idiots_?” Patton didn’t answer. Doyle didn’t wait for one. He stepped forward. “I’ve been planning to break you apart… bit by bit… ever since I was sentenced in court.”

                Patton swallowed thickly, his eyes darting to Virgil fearfully before turning back to Doyle. He knew why. Doyle wanted to destroy Patton? He wanted Patton to suffer? That was easy… he just had to get rid of everyone and everything Patton cared about: his family.

                “I was surprised,” Doyle said as he tapped his wand against his palm. “Naroona… or, was it Nancy? She really didn’t care for you.” He gave Patton a sidelong glance. “I really thought her death would affect you more.”

                Patton let out a shaky breath. “You… y-you were the one who –”

                “But Virgil? Oh, Virgil…” Doyle’s gaze slid over to Virgil, dark and intent as he smiled and said, “You were his _real_ weak spot. But no matter what I did… something always got in the way.” His smile dropped as he growled, “It would’ve been easier if you had just _drowned_ in that well.”

                Virgil’s breath caught; it was all coming back. The well. The dark waters closing over his head. The catch of water in his lungs. All of it had been done by Doyle Dempsey. He’d been trying to kill Virgil for _years_. All to make Patton suffer.

                “And your husband?” Doyle said, his smile refreshed and sharp. “It was fun to manipulate him. It was almost… too easy.” He laughed, and Patton flinched away at the sound. “And the way you _cried_ … it was so… _satisfying_.” He paused, his green eyes narrowed and irritated as he said, “And then… someone had to intervene.”

                Virgil swallowed; _he and Roman_ had been the ones to save Logan. They were the ones who found the antidote. They were to blame. No wonder Doyle hated them so much.

                “I was a snake in the grass,” Doyle said coyly. “Watching every move as ‘Principal Remulus.’ It was nice to have a front row seat to the show.” He pivoted his hips and sighed, “But… I’ve gotten tired of waiting. It’s time to bring this whole little _‘game’_ to an end.”

                “Game?” Patton breathed, still trembling with fear. “You’ve _tortured_ my family!”

                “To get to _you!”_ Doyle shouted in response, his eyes wild and furious as he marched over to Virgil. Virgil almost had a chance to pull out his wand, but Doyle flicked his wrist and sent Virgil’s wand flying across the room.

                “Stop!” Patton cried, scrambling to his feet to somehow help Virgil.

                Doyle didn’t give him a chance, grabbing a fistful of Virgil’s hair as he held his wand to Virgil’s throat. “Easy, Mr. Sanders! We don’t want your son to have a premature death.”

                Patton halted, fighting himself as he tried to think of a solution. Virgil gasped for breath, feeling the end of the wand press painfully into his windpipe. He felt tears stream down his face… he hadn’t even realized he was crying.

                “Dad,” he gasped, hearing the sound of his own broken, frightened voice. “Dad!”

                “I want to make this count,” Doyle hissed as he held Virgil still. “I want to see him fall apart when the light leaves your eyes.”

                And that was when Roman lunged at Doyle from his place on the ground, tackling him to the parlor floor as Virgil gasped and caught his breath. The victory was short-lived as Doyle slammed his elbow into Roman’s face. Virgil heard the _crack_ of Roman’s nose as it broke, and blood flowed down his face as he collapsed back onto the floor.

                Taking Virgil’s momentary pause to his advantage, Doyle wrapped one hand around his throat and squeezed, holding him in place as he pressed his wand to Virgil’s temple. Virgil gagged, feeling the tips of his fingers go numb when blood flow was constricted.

                “Time for seat-change, little boy,” he growled into Virgil’s ear. Doyle’s eyes were on Patton, keen and waiting for the inevitable heartbreak.

                “Please,” Patton gasped, his legs shaking as tears streamed down his face. “You… you hate me, so… just… just kill me! Just kill me!”

                Doyle frowned. “Not yet. I want you to suffer. I want you to suffer like I suffered for all… those… years…”

                “Please!” Patton cried, looking like he was about to drop his wand out of desperation. But if he dropped it… Doyle wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all. “P-please, he’s just… he’s just a boy! He – he has nothing to do with this!”

                Doyle shook as he shouted, “He has _everything_ to do with this!”

                Patton wobbled where he stood, both hands bracing his wand as he grit his teeth and begged for Virgil’s life. “I… I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you if – if you don’t let him go, I’ll –”

                “Kill me?” Doyle asked, almost amused by this option as he pulled Virgil a little closer. “How good is your aim, Patton?” Patton hesitated. Doyle didn’t miss it. He grinned and said, “You want to be _certain_ you hit me. You don’t want another little mishap, do you?”

                Patton wavered. “M… mishap…”

                “You missed,” Doyle said lowly. “And Jack died.”

                Patton’s fear turned to anger as shouted, “Don’t you _dare_ say his name!”

                Doyle wasn’t moved by the outburst. He held firm. “ _So_ many people want you dead, Patton Sanders,” he spat the name like venom. “They know _every. Little. Bit. Of you._ ”

                Patton shivered a bit, uneasy in his own skin as he sputtered, “And you…”

                Doyle smiled. “I listened to their ideas… and I’ve been planning this ever since.” 

As if he didn’t heart this, Patton looked at Virgil and said, “I… I can’t lose him, I… I need to take him to see the trees again.”

                Virgil blinked, still wheezing and trying to get a decent breath of air. Trees? What was he talking about? Everything was going numb. He felt dizzy. Trees… what trees?

                “Remember?” Patton blubbered helplessly. “The trees? In the country?”

                Virgil blinked. He did. He remembered. But Patton couldn’t hear his thoughts. Patton couldn’t hear his confirmation. Doyle was practically shaking with anger.

                “Enough!” He snapped, gripping Virgil’s throat so tight, he was sure his windpipe would be crushed.

                His vision was starting to blot out. The trees… the trees in the sunlight. The branches shattering and breaking apart. A pure, aggressive release of magical energy. Wandless magic in its rawest form. Virgil could hardly think. A breath… a catch in his lungs… the world was going dim. He couldn’t even feel the press of Doyle’s wand into his skin. Everything felt cold. Cold, cold… hot. Fire. Burning fire. The sound of his own voice in his ears. The scream as trees burst into flames. Fear and anger and sadness… all rolled into one.

                Letting out a harsh, broken cry, Virgil felt Doyle wrench away from him, stumbling back as his robes caught fire. Virgil fell forward on his hands and knees, coughing harshly and gasping for breath as Doyle tried to pat the flames out.

                Patton was ready for him. His wand at the ready and eyes dark as he said, “Time for a seat-change, Mr. Dempsey.”

                Virgil didn’t see what spell he used. He didn’t even hear a spell spoken aloud. That was for the best. He only felt the shock of magic tearing through the air, the burn of the spell as it flew over him and into Doyle. There was a gasp, a brief moment of unsteady footing… and then an organic _thud_ as Doyle hit the floor.

                After he managed to catch his breath, Virgil looked up to see Patton staring at Doyle’s body in shock. It didn’t even look like he knew what had happened. Why was he confused? He was the one that cast the spell. Wasn’t he?

                “Fucking hell,” a new voice said from the doorway. Virgil flinched. He _knew_ that voice. He turned to the doorway, seeing Principal Remulus leaning against the doorframe heavily. “That bastard has had me locked in my office for three months…” he gave the disarrayed room a long, considering look. “And I guess I showed up to the party just in time.”

                Hysterical and breathless, Patton let out a shaky laugh as he dropped to his knees in front of Virgil, his hands fluttering over Virgil’s face. “Are… are you okay? Are you hurt?”

                Virgil shook his head, still trembling as he glanced around the room. “D-dad… is dad…”

                Patton winced, holding a hand to his forehead as he called, “Logan?”

                Logan’s response was a pained groan. He didn’t get up. Virgil doubted he had the strength to _try_ … but he was alive. Virgil let out a breath of relief. He watched Principal Remulus approach Emile’s body, giving him an appraising look.

                “Who… is this?” He asked, pointing his wand at Emile curiously.

                Virgil tried to talk, but his windpipe was still sore… he could only cough. Patton spoke for him. “That’s… that’s my brother-in-law, Emile.” He paused, then said, “Or… he _was_ … I…”

                “No,” Remulus said officially. “He still is.” He knelt down, looming over Emile as he wave his wand over Emile’s face slowly. “This is the _stupidest_ hex I’ve ever seen.”

                Virgil blinked spastically. What did _that_ mean? Patton must’ve felt the same because he leaned forward and gave Principal Remulus a strange look. “I… he’s still alive?”

                Remulus sighed. “Yeah… but this hex is so weak. A _child_ could break this hex. Why wouldn’t he just deflect it?”

                Virgil voice his voice – as hoarse and whispery as it was – and said, “He’s—” Virgil coughed. “He’s a _squib_.”

                “Oh,” Remulus blinked, giving Emile’s slack face a long look. “He’s pretty for a squib.”

                Virgil blinked. This Remulus was _much_ different from Doyle’s Remulus. He was so laid back. And calm… not the upstanding, bright and jittery official that Doyle pretended to be. Virgil watched as Remulus placed the tip of his wand to Emile’s forehead. A light spread over his skin, pale and translucent. Within a moment, Emile took a deep, deep breath… and his eyes fluttered open.

                Immediately, his eyes landed on Remulus. “You…” he said, sounding like he was still half-asleep. “You have such… beautiful eyes.”

                Remulus quirked an eyebrow… then smiled. He gave Patton and Virgil a wry look. “I like him already.”

                While Emile looked around and started to question where he was, Virgil crawled over to Roman. He tried to wipe a little of the blood away from Roman’s face, and Roman’s expression scrunched up comically. He couldn’t think of what to say. He doubted he could even _say_ anything if he really wanted to. His voice hurt too much. He didn’t want to speak. Luckily, Roman spoke for him.

                “My father,” he groaned as he gave Virgil a tired smile. “Is going to be _so_ mad at me.”

                Even though it hurt… Virgil laughed.

+++++

_Epilogue_

                Virgil sat quietly at his father’s bedside, watching the way Logan’s chest rose and fell with slow, calm breaths. After all that had happened… it was amazing to see him still alive. Patton sat on the other side of the bed, patting his hand every so often. They’d brought him to a No-Maj hospital, per Patton’s request. It was only natural for him to be wary of magic after… well, after everything.

                Logan had two fractured ribs from hitting the bookshelf. He was on a fair amount of painkillers as he laid back against his pillows, smiling hazily at Patton. Every so often, Patton would giggle and pat his hand. Virgil wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Logan was thinking.

                In the room next to theirs, Emile was laid up and being attended to; doctors were baffled by Emile’s amnesia and lack of awareness before he “blacked out.” Remulus, who sat at his bedside, made no move to explain. He dressed in No-Maj clothing to blend in – black pants and a leather jacket? Not very suiting for the Principal of Ilvermorny – and he watched over Emile like a hawk. That was a little comforting, at the least.

                Next to Virgil, Roman was leaning on his shoulder, softly snoring. His nose had been reset by No-Maj doctors, much to Roman’s chagrin, and there was an impressive bruise forming across the bridge of his nose. With a little magic, it would clear up.

                “So,” Patton said softly, making Virgil jump where he sat. Virgil met his eye, seeing Patton smile sadly. “After… after all this…” he let out a shaky sigh and pat Logan’s hand again. “It’s over.”

                “It’s over,” Logan said sleepily, his words almost slurring together as he blinked slowly. “Idiot thinks… thought… thought he could hurt us.”

                Patton laughed fondly, sniffling as he nodded. “He was no match for the Sanders family.”

                Virgil smiled at that. Logan huffed and frowned at the ceiling, his brow furrowed and thoughtful as he muttered, “What… what did he call himself?” There was a pause, and Patton and Virgil looked at each other, amused, when Logan muttered, “The… the snake in the nest?”

                Virgil snorted. “He said he was a ‘snake in the grass,’ Dad.”

                Logan made a garbled noise of confusion, still loopy from the painkillers. “Snake in the… nests…”

                Patton cocked his head to the side, bemused. “Do snakes have nests, sweetheart?” Logan hummed affirmatively, his eyes shut and his expression calm. Patton brushed the hair from Logan’s eyes as he sighed tiredly.

                Virgil pursed his lips, feigning deep thought. “What kind of nest would Doyle have?”

                Logan’s voice was hardly a whisper as he muttered, “A witch’s nest, obviously.”

                The room went quiet as Logan started to nod off. Patton was smiling, watching the peace that had settled over his expression. It was the calm after the storm. The part where the feared future settled into the calm, soft present.

                The heart monitor beeped routinely, and Roman shifted slightly as he said, “The snake in the witch’s nest…” Virgil gave him a look, and Roman glanced up at him with a smile. “You gotta admit… it makes for one hell of a story.”

                Patton smiled at that, and Virgil couldn’t help but smile back as he took Roman’s hand. He held it tight, watching the way Logan slowly but surely fell asleep. The calm settled in. He finally… _finally_ felt safe. It might not be so bad… living in the witch’s nest. Living with the fact that now light was on the horizon, finally in his grasp.

                Patton watched him for a moment, and when Virgil quirked an eyebrow, Patton said, “You look _happy,_ kiddo.” He indicated to where Roman had dozed off again, and Virgil huffed a laugh. Patton smile softened a bit. “It’s nice to see.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil said, his voice hardly more than a whisper as he looked back at his parents. They were all okay. All grouped together and rattled with aftershocks… but safe. And alive. Virgil smiled. “It’s… over,” he said, feeling a little gratified when he said it. “It’s over.”

                He took a breath and let it out slowly, feeling the tension in his chest melt away. For once in a long, long time… he had nothing else to fear. No curse. No attacks. Nothing. He was free.

                Finally… he’d escaped the witch’s nest.

\+ END +

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! The time has come.  
> Goodbyes and such and such...  
> I'll admit, this story was an experience. And I thank each and everyone who stuck with me from the beginning.
> 
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> Thank you all for the love and support... I'll see you in the next story!


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